First Time, Every Time
by kkolmakov
Summary: A collection of one-shots based on readers' prompts, each describing the first meeting of Thorin Oakenshield and my usual OC Wren. Circumstances change but it's still the same King and his ginger, and they will always find each other *No Infringement Intended*
1. Better Fish to Fry

_That time when Thorin thought he saw a mermaid in the river, while Wren was only trying to keep low and cover her naked self from his view._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: My darling, Neewa, I'm so happy to have you back! :D**

**The first time I read your prompt I read "lake" instead of "river," and since my inspiration moves with the speed of light, three seconds later it was too late to change since the whole fic was already half written in my head. So, sorry, it's going to be "lake" :)**

* * *

><p>"There is no such thing as a mermaid!" Thorin roared shaking his mug with ale, splashing it all over the wooden table. No one heard him, loud drunk voices filling the hall. Dwarves had been drinking third day in a row, celebrating the anniversary of the Battle of Five Armies. Dwalin was armwrestling with his brother on the other end of the table. Since both of them were completely cross-eyed they had trouble locking their hands to say nothing of participating in any sort of competition. Kili was sleeping on the table, having dropped his head on folded arms. Fili was still surprisingly upright, but that was as much as it could have been said about him. He was standing in the middle of the hall in astonishment studying a statue of Thorin. Thorin hated the statue, it was an ostentatious gift from Dain Ironfoot and showed so little semblance to Thorin that he initially thought he was given the statue of Dain himself. Perhaps that was Ironfoot's plan all along.<p>

"There are mermaids in the Lake!" Dori tried to sound impressive but his speech was too slurred. "Ask Nori!"

"He can't confirm, he is under the table," Bofur toppled another mug into his throat and hiccuped loudly. "But the legends do say there are lakes in the mermaids..."

He tried to focus his bleary eyes on Thorin, when suddenly Kili lifted his head and yelled, "Let's go see!"

"There are no..." Thorin started anew when with a loud thud Dwalin fell on the floor. "We would know! Bard would have told us!" He dropped his eyes on the floor and slightly kicked the sleeping King of Dale. Booming snoring was his answer.

Fili suddenly pulled two long daggers from under his collar, on his back, and yelled, "To the Lake!" He rushed to the door but missed, and with a loud bang his blond head met the doorframe. He collapsed on the ground in a clumsy tanglement of limbs and with a happy smile of his face.

"That's it!" Thorin slammed his palm into the table and rose on his feet rocking from side to side like a small tree in a storm, "I am going to go and check, and you will all see there are no maids in the Lake!"

Fili sniggered from the floor. "There are maids in the Lake, I've met them myself… Lovely maids… Round amaids... Soft maids..." He made happy smooching noises and curled in a ball, obviously dreaming of some of his former conquests.

"I'll go with you, Uncle! You are my King, I'll follow you everywhere," Kili got up, flailed his arms and rushed out through the door, a large wine skin swinging in his hands.

Eventually several Dwarves reached the lake, Thorin was certain Kili and Bofur were there, but the rest was rather blurred. They continued drinking all the way, having loaded wine and food on a large cart. Balin who had stayed in the hall, his face in a plate with roasted mutton to be precise, at the very last moment suggested they loaded the King of Dale on it too, and thusly a company of a questionable amount of Dwarves, perhaps a hobbit, they might have lost him in the passages of Erebor, he kept on falling of Bombur's shoulder, and an unconscious Bard the Bowman reached the Lake.

They spend another dozen hours drinking at this improvised picnic, when Kili mumbled in sleep something about tits and tails, and Thorin finally remembered the purpose of his noble quest. He jumped on his feet, wobbled, fell, got up again and decisively started marching towards the Lake. To be honest, he was moving in zigzags, but he did it majestically.

The moon was shining bright, and he swore loudly. There were damn mermaids in the Lake. One of them was currently washing her long wavy hair sitting on a large boulder. She was humming a song as well, which sounded horribly out of tune, and he cringed. A vague memory stirred in his clouded mind, that the legend claimed the mermaids were to lure men into water and to their certain demise by their voices, but after he tried to give the mermaid an attentive look, his eyeballs not quite being under his control, he had to concede that this particular mermaid didn't need any singing abilities. She was slender, had an enticing long neck and small breasts, her arms were moving fluidly and seductively, a large comb in her hand, fingers of the other one running through what he now saw were bright copper strands, and she was sparkling. Her small appetizing body, and a tail, and she indeed had a tail going under water, her pert buttocks on the boulder, all of her was glowing and glittering. Her bum and hips were visible, while the rest was under the surface of the moon lit water, and Thorin made a step forwards, tripped over a root of weeping willow and with a splash and a dirty swearing in Khuzdul he landed on all four.

The mermaid squealed and jumped into the water. Thorin expected her tail to make its appearance like a fish's one would, in a wide arch over the water, but he just saw her head emerge above water again, her hair sticking to her forehead and shoulders. He focused on her face. It was indeed strange, otherworldly, angular. The eyes were slanted and gleaming in the dark.

It spoke, but Thorin was shaking his head trying to chase away the loud buzzing in his ears, and he didn't hear.

"What?"

"Please, turn away." It had a confident melodic voice and sounded irritated. "I need to come out, and I am not dressed."

"What about the tail?" His thoughts were meddled, "It is sort of a dress."

The mermaid mumbled something under its voice, and he realised it was staying where it was very shallow, probably scooting in water, to hide its chest from his eyes. That was rather strange for a mermaid, he'd assume it would want to lure him into depth. He plopped on his backside and gave it a more attentive look.

It looked irked, its delicate nose was twitching, and he somehow guessed it was cold. The night was brisk, and he clapped his palm over his eyes.

"Here, I'm not looking. You can come out." He was cheating and peeking between his fingers. He wanted to see how it would crawl out on its fish tail.

There was no tail. There was a pair of very slender, shapely legs, adorable feet and lovely thighs. The glistening he saw earlier was the chemise, long and demure, and he licked his lips for some reason specifically imagining kissing these little round knees.

She was grumbling, "Maiar help me, where does a girl need to go to take a bath in peace?" She pulled on her modest skirt that he now realised had been hanging on a bush the whole time, and bent down to pick up a bar of soap. Her bum was sticking up, and he dropped his hand and stared. She was buttoning up the skirt and looked up meeting his eyes. She squeaked and covered her breasts with her hands. He whined in disappointment, they were mouth watering, with taut bright red tips.

She quickly pulled a tunic over and stuffed her belongings in a basket. She was clearly preparing to leave.

"Are there any more mermaids in the Lake?" He asked, and she gave him an attentive look.

"No, there are no mermaids in the Lake." He sighed and tried to get up. "Are you planning to go investigate?" He nodded enthusiastically, and she put the basket down and approached him.

"You are going to drown," her tone was decisive, she was making a statement, not questioning it. "You are a Dwarf, you can't swim properly." He derisively puffed air to show she was being ridiculous. "There are leeches there," she tried again. He waved his hand in a nonchalant gesture.

"It's about time they try some blood from the line of Durin. They have never had a feast like that..."

The redhead stopped right in front of him and scooted. Her eyes were at the same level as his, and, mermaid or not, they were mesmerizing.

"Blimey, the King Under the Mountain," she drew out and cupped his face. She had a cool palm and smelled of lilacs. He leaned in, she had enticing lips. "How did you end up so far from your mountain, my King?" The respectful moniker tickled his spine and made him lunge ahead and catch mouth. She didn't move away for seven and a half seconds. "And in this state no less..." The second hand joined the first one on his jaw, and she scratched his beard, as if a cat, with her short nails, making him rumble low in his chest. She giggled, "My oh my, a purring Dwarf..."

He wanted to say he was not under any circumstances purring, but she kissed the tip of his nose, and he decided it was quite alright.

"Alright, your majesty, let us return you to where you belong. How did you end up here?"

"We are celebrating..." He made a vague gesture towards their camp site, and she nodded.

"Right, the Battle of Five Armies..." Her tone was soft, and he leaned in and pressed his face into her neck. It was very comfortable, and he purred again. It was just her here, he might as well admit it did sound like purring. Who knew he could make such sounds at all. She got up and stretched her hands to him, "Let us take you back, my lord. It is not proper for the mighty King Under the Mountain to sit his butt down in silt."

Thorin woke up with a horrible headache, his back sore, his arm having fallen asleep, but in a surprisingly fair mood. He rubbed his eyes, without opening them, with his left hand, and tried to lift the second arm to run it through his hair, when he realised there was some weight pressing it to the solid ground he was sleeping on. Firstly, the ground quite obviously meant he had been sleeping outside. He didn't remember even going outside. He remembered drinking in Erebor halls, and then he remembered a mermaid. That was the second thing he needed to process, but he opened his eyes, and a lot became clearer.

A small redhead was sleeping on his arm, curled into his side, her nose buried into his chest, her delicate hand clenching the collar of his tunic. The first thing he noticed were the bright freckles on the turn-up nose, the second was her slender leg wrapped around his.

He picked up an orange curl with his free hand and twirled it around his finger. It smelled of lilacs, and he smiled.

"You didn't let me leave last night," she spoke without opening her eyes. Judging by the furious blush quickly flooding her high cheekbones, she wasn't planning to open her eyes and fully face him any time soon. He chuckled. "You threatened to go fishing for mermaids if I left. I couldn't render Erebor kingless."

He rolled her under him, and that's when she opened her eyes. They were no less hypnotizing now that he was less inebriated. She was stretched under him, taut and cool and made of flesh and no magic, but no less extraordinary.

"That is very noble of you, fair maiden. Such a horrible sacrifice for the sake of my people." He cocked a brow, and she lightly bit her bottom lip in a flirty lopsided smirk. He quickly decided that the lip would be what he'd start with, then the collarbones, then the breasts, then still surprisingly the knees, and of course the buttocks. There was a small detail left, a consent to ensure. He was planning to ask, afterwards seduce, and if everything else fails, to bribe.

"I am afraid the destiny of my Kingdom is in your hands now, my lady. Are you willing to confine yourself to my mountain to make sure I do not get a sudden urge to go swimming any time soon?" She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Yes." That was a good answer, simple and final. He chuckled and pressed his lips to hers. There were apparently mermaids in the Lake, and he was fine with it. Her taste flooding his senses felt like the best kind of drowning.


	2. Hearts and Flowers

**Thank you, Neewa, for this wonderful prompt! Your ideas are always so original and lovely! :)**

* * *

><p><em>That time when Thorin was buying flowers for Dis, while Wren was only helping her friend to sell them.<em>

* * *

><p>"Master Thorin, master Thorin!" An elderly Dwarf was quickly walking through the Dale market, his head turning frantically. He had just lost the heir to the throne of Erebor in a busy street full of Durin knows whom.<p>

Meanwhile Thorin climbed out from under the cart he had been hiding underneath this whole time, and after regally brushing dust off his blue velvet trousers he marched towards the aisle with toys and sweets. He wholeheartedly disliked supervision and surely could take care of himself.

Two hours later he was tired, full, he had eaten three large pastries called oliphant ears, deep fried and covered in delicious icing sugar, and altogether he was cheery as a lark. He had passed his chaperone twice by then, unnoticed, his scouting skills exceptional fro his young age, and by now he decided it was time to take mercy over the old Dwarf and return to the Mountain. He had purchased a new belt that had been the purpose of the trip in the first place. The merchant of course had to ask him where his parents were, as tall as he was for a Khazad he was still obviously a child, but an haughty look and a cocked brow stopped the man in his tracks. By then Thorin knew how easily people could be intimidated and had used it to his benefit multiple times.

He was walking, whistling a tune, when he saw a small girl sitting on a fence, eating an apple. There was a large basket of flowers in front of her, and he thought he should get some for Dis. It was his sister's birthday next week, and he was brought up to respect and cherish all females of his race. As whiny and temperamental as she was, she was to become a wife and a mother one day.

He stopped in front of the girl and pointed at the flowers, "How much are they?" She was skinny, like a twig, her hair an astonishing orange mop around her head. He had never seen such colour on Men.

"Five coins each," she had a confident look, laughing eyes, and a very wide bright red mouth. Altogether she was odd, and he frowned.

"That is mighty a lot for a withered weed," he was taught to always bargain for his purchases. She was supposed to get annoyed, she was no Khazad after all and didn't know proper rules of trade, but she suddenly roared with laughter and almost fell off the fence.

"You are a grouchy one, aren't you?" She chuckled couple more times, sat on the fence more comfortably and bit a large piece from the apple with a crunch. Thorin suddenly felt a sharp desire to have some apple too. "Suit yourself. I don't bargain. But these are the best flowers you can get at this market."

"Why?" He asked grumpily, he didn't like her merry confidence. She jumped off the fence and walked up to him. She hardly reached his collarbones, and although she seemed older he understood she was probably eleven, around the same age as him in a human equivalent. She stood on her tiptoes and moved her lips to his ear.

"They are magical," she whispered, her breath brushed his helix, and goosebumps ran down his spine.

"Poppycock!" He barked to silent the strange ticklish excitement he suddenly felt. She laughed again, and stretched her hand with the half eaten apple towards him.

"Hold this." He gasped in indignation, he was the Prince of Erebor. To his own shock he saw his hand taking the fruit, his fingers brushed her tiny digits, and he stared at the teeth marks on the glossy red apple.

She bent down and pulled one flower out of the basket. It was indeed slightly withered, and suddenly she lifted it to her lips. Her bright lips formed a semblance of a red flower themselves, and she placed a feather like kiss on a petal. In astonishment Thorin watched the flower prim up, its petals once again fresh and succulent, and she giggled.

"So do you want a flower or not?" He nodded, his eyes glued to the petal she kissed. She moved even closer and pushed the flower into his hair.

She was close, his heart was pounding, and he rasped, "What flowers are these?"

"It's Anemone, the White Splendour," she picked up another one and twirled it in her fingers. It twitched and primed up as well, "They cannot withstand to be picked up, they are forest ones, they'd all perish before anyone would buy them."

"Why did you pick them up then if you can't sell them?" He looked at the basket in confusion.

"I didn't. I am helping my friend Thea to sell them. I myself am a healer's apprentice," she jerked up her turn up nose haughtily, "I know herbs, I'd never choose these."

"I'll take them all," he pulled his coin pouch out and looked into her eyes. They were slanted and bright green, perhaps in the contrast with a simple purple dress she was wearing.

She gave him a strange studying look and then sighed. "I'll be honest with you, they'll die as soon as you step away from me. I'm keeping them alive. So keep your money. I'll go pick up some other flowers for Thea."

He stepped to her and pushed the pouch into her hand. "Take the money. Your friend needs it, the flowers are for my sister, and she is a bother." She giggled, and he suddenly noticed how close they were standing. He gulped and remembered he was a Dwarf. They knew trade. "Just give me one kiss for compensation." Her brows jumped up, and furious blush spilled on her cheeks.

He watched her delicate nose twitch in a nervous habit, she chewed on her bottom lip, and then asked in a small voice, "I will need your name. I've never kissed anyone, I want to know the name of the first boy I kiss."

"It's Thorin," he would have given her a customary bow but he couldn't tear his eyes off her face. She exhaled, and her small narrow hand lay on his shoulder. He bent slightly for her convenience, and she closed her eyes. He saw the freckles on the nose, slightly frowned brows, and then soft warm lips pressed to his. She smelled of lilacs, and he closed his eyes as well. He felt her hand on his shoulder twitch, and then she moved away. He slowly opened his eyes and saw her burning face in front of her.

"Are we even now?" Her voice was shaking, and he nodded. She grabbed the basket, shoved it into his open hand, and suddenly, picking up her skirts, she started running away from him down the street.

Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, the older Prince of Erebor, was standing in the middle of a busy market street in Dale, a basket of withered white flowers in one hand, a half eaten apple in the other, his eyes shiny, frantic blush burning on his cheekbones. That was how his chaperone found him, to the latter's relief, and they headed back to the Mountain. Thorin was walking lost on his thoughts, finishing the girl's apple, and lamenting he didn't ask for her name. But then again, how many healers could there be in Dale and how many of them had a redhaired girl for an apprentice?


	3. Carry Me With You

_That time when Thorin was looking for his nephews, while Wren was helping them out of trouble._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Here you go, ****TwistIt****, and welcome to the mad company of kkolmakov :D**

* * *

><p>The rain was pouring on his cape, water disgustingly squelching in his boots, he slipped, sinking in the soft mud twice, but continued pushing through. The tousle was thick, lots of underbrush on his way, and he had never travelled these woods before. Thorin carefully studied the ground, but the rain that had been falling without repose for the last two days, made the ground soggy and any tracks indistinguishable. He brushed off water pouring on his face and stopped. He was truly lost.<p>

He had been returning from a job in a town several miles to the North. Kili and Fili left the town earlier, but on his way he spoke to an innkeeper and found out they hadn't passed it on their way. It could only mean one thing. Something deterred them off the track. He found a campsite and recognised Fili's distinct manner of building fire. He followed their tracks, and then the rain started.

He realised he was standing in the middle of the forest, completely perplexed, when he heard a noise to his right. He swiftly pulled his sword out of the scabbard, when he heard a calm voice, "No need for your blade, honourable Dwarf. I come in peace." He sharply turned around and stared at a small hooded figure. It was perhaps a child of Men, small, very slender, the voice young. "You are Thorin Oakenshield, aren't you? I came from your nephews." He stepped closer, and the stranger stretched a hand to him. On it he saw a rune stone Dis customarily gave to her sons when on long trips. "Fili said you would follow me if I showed it to you."

"I won't follow a person whose face I haven't seen." Two slender arms snaked from under the cloak, and the hood fell. She was no child, but indeed rather young, angular face, astonishing copper curls braided around her head. Something about her face seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he could quite place it.

"I am Wren, I am a healer in the nearest village. Your nephew Fili got injured, but he is healing now. Allow me to accompany you to the village, my lord." He nodded, and she pulled the hood back.

They walked for a few hours, in complete silence. He was watching her in astonishment, for she hadn't made a single erroneous step on her way. She hadn't slipped, hadn't stumbled, while he had trouble avoiding such mistakes, as good as Dwarves were at scouting. She seemed to glide between the trees, her movements fluid and mesmerising. Once he almost fell, and a strong little hand supported his arm. He felt a prickle of strange excitement when she touched him, and immediately asked himself whether he was developing a delirium.

The village was small, the house she led him to was located on its very edge, and she pushed the entrance door. He entered and found himself in a small, pristine parlour. He immediately felt embarrassed for the mud he trailed on the floor and for the water rushing down from his cloak. She shed hers and hung it on a peg by the door.

She was indeed minuscule, in a simple green tunic and a black skirt, and he watched her take off her boots. She had pale skin and pink toes. The door to the kitchen from inside the house opened, and Thorin sighed with relief. Kili was grinning ear to ear.

"Mahal help me, you two are going to be the death of me..." Thorin smiled to the boy, and the latter approached him. They clasped their arms, and Thorin patted his shoulder.

"Uncle, we are fine. Fili broke his arm and a couple ribs, but thank to our host here," Kili looked to the girl who was busily squeezing water out of her hair. He bowed to her and she smiled absent-mindedly, "He'll be better in no time."

Thorin realised that Kili was barefoot and assumed such were the customs of this house. The girl took his cloak and coat out of his hands and hung them on a hook.

"I will find you some dinner, my lord," she disappeared in what he assumed was a pantry, and he finally realised what was odd in her manners. She hadn't met his eyes a single time.

Thorin shook off his boots and looked at Kili questioningly. "You can leave your weapons by the door, it is a friendly house," the young Dwarf chuckled, "Though it takes some time getting used to." Thorin cocked a brow but Kili didn't elaborate.

He found Fili sitting in a tiny living room, in front of a crackling fire, a chess board in front of him, another armchair across it from him. Thorin made a surprised noise, he didn't think Kili played although Fili was known to be an excellent player.

"Uncle," Fili smiled as well, and Thorin gave him an attentive look over. His arm was in a sling, and he turned rather stiffly when Thorin came in, but altogether both boys looked healthy and merry. Thorin felt relief flood him and smiled.

"What happened?"

"We were hunting, and I fell like a dimwit," Fili looked sufficiently embarrassed.

"It was an old abandoned trap, a deep well, covered to hide it," Kili explained. Thorin nodded but then noticed slightly strange expressions on both their faces.

"What is it?" He saw the boys exchange glances. "Common, what aren't you telling me?"

"She came right away, right after Fili fell," Kili spoke quietly, and his eyes darted towards the door to the kitchen. "She is a healer in this village, but they are not fond of her. We think they are afraid of her. They say she is… a witch." Thorin frowned at such nonsense.

"Meaning she has magic?" Kili shrugged, and once again the boys looked at each other.

"She is strange, she… knows things, Uncle," Fili looked him directly in the eyes, as if challenging him to question it, "She said she had a dream about the trap, and she came. She had ropes. Otherwise Kili wouldn't have pulled me out. And then this morning..."

"She said you were coming!" Kili raised his voice, and Fili shushed him. Thorin looked at them irritatedly. He didn't expect such childishness from them.

"In all honesty..." He started and then heard the door open behind him, She was standing in the doorframe, her eyes lowered.

"The dinner is ready, my lord."

"We have eaten already, Uncle, you go," Fili spoke in an unnatural tone, and Thorin snorted irked. It was surely ridiculous. He strode after her in the kitchen and found a bowl of stew, a mug of ale and a plate of freshly baked bread waiting for him on the table.

"Thank you, honourable healer. Could I have your name again, please?" He kept his voice polite, studying her meanwhile. There was a certain ethereal charm about her, her body lithe and graceful, and again, the hair was magnificent.

"Wren," she quickly turned away from him and started pouring water in a kettle.

"I'm very grateful to you for your help to my nephews," he spoke calmly, preparing to breach the subject of payment.

"Fili has paid me for the treatment and the board," she didn't turn to face him, rustling with something on the shelves. "Your stew is growing cold, my lord."

He sat down and started eating. The food was excellent, and it was after all his favourite venison stew. She then stepped to the table and places a large plate in front of him. There were at least five sorts of cheese on it, sliced in neat pieces, and he stared at it. She sat in front of him, her eyes on her hands, her fingers fidgeting with a tea leaf that escaped the pot. The movement of her digits were rhythmical, almost a dance. They sat in silence for a few minutes, he ate, she remained unmoving, except for the small fluttering of her fingers, and he studied her long graceful neck, small curls on her temples, a turn up nose peppered with freckles. He couldn't chase away a feeling that they must have met before.

"Honourable healer..." She hummed to show she was listening, but he suddenly felt an urge to see her eyes. "Wren, have we met before?"

She lifted her face, and he dropped the spoon. The eyes were odd, slanted, of fluid, changing colour, neither brown nor green, framed by long fluffy lashes. They were also familiar, kindred, but he couldn't remember where from.

"You have seen me before..." Her voice was quiet and even. "In your dreams. Like I see you in mine. You just forget them like ordinary people should." He couldn't tear his eyes off her face, and she shifted, once again avoiding his stare. "I get them. Dreams. People are scared of me in the village. But they need my herbs."

She got up, took the boiling kettle of the stove, and started making tea. He was staring at her narrow back.

"You can leave if you are scared too." Her voice was quieter but didn't tremble. "I'll understand." She turned around and placed two cups of tea on the table. "But I have things to tell you before you go." She finally lifted her eyes and looked at him again. There was vulnerability and sadness in them, and he couldn't gather himself why he stood up and stepped to her. She moved into him at the same time and pressed into him hiding her face in his neck.

"I am not leaving..." He wanted to add 'now' but didn't.

"I see a war ahead of you…" She whispered, and her small hand lay over his heart. "Fire, destruction, the beast is awake… And you will fall, at the battle field. Your greed will be your demise." He tensed and looked down at her. To his shock he saw tears running down the pale cheeks, and she clenched his tunic. "You have to remember who your friends are, Thorin Oakenshield, and that merriment and loyalty and loving hearts are more precious than any gold in the world…"

They stood in her kitchen for awhile, until she suddenly stepped away from him and left through the door he hadn't yet seen open before. He gave himself a few minutes and then he joined his nephews in the living room. It turned out the host had been Fili's opponent, Kili was quietly reading a book in a corner. Thorin sat in the chair in front of Fili and met his nephew's blue eyes. They were pensive, and Fili nodded to him in understanding.

It was very late when Fili and Kili went upstairs to the master bedroom the healer gave up for them, and his eyes were on the slowly cooling down embers in the fire pit when she quietly entered the room.

"I made you a bed in the attic, my lord," she seemed serene as if the conversation in the kitchen hadn't happened. He turned his head and looked at her. She was seemingly looking at something on the wall above his head.

"Wren," he called softly, and she met his eyes. "Do you have a place to sleep?"

"I will go to Thea, she is married to the baker, she is the only one who likes me." She smiled, although he knew the smile wasn't for him.

"I can find lodging in the village," he felt embarrassed to deprive her of comfort at night.

"The bed in the attic is big enough for two." He choked on his words upon hearing hers. Her remarkable eyes once again focused on his. The sudden radiant smile was for him this time. "I trust you."

She was taut and fluid, he felt her press into him through the tunic and the breeches he left unshed, and her fingers were drawing strange regular patterns on his chest. Her slender leg wrapped around his, and suddenly he felt her lips pressed to his jaw. He jerked and looked at her in shock.

"Trust me," she whispered softly, and it was a strange thing to say. The clothes were shed, and he finally had her lithe silky body pressed into him. She was strong, cool, but swift and demanding. He didn't know what he expected but not the legs firmly wrapped around his waist, hands roaming his back, hips moving in intoxicating swirls when after the first time she straddled him. He didn't remember how he fell asleep, exhausted and sated, more than ever in his life.

In the morning he woke up alone. In the kitchen he found his nephews, ready for the road, and three bags of provision, the one intended for Fili had the balm for his wounds and the instructions written in a neat curly handwriting. In his Thorin found cheese and a locket with a copper lock in it.

They set on the road. It was a year later when Gandalf the Grey approached him in the inn in Bree when Thorin remembered soft words pronounced to him in a small kitchen in the house of a village healer. Months later when the gold sickness would seem to be overcoming him, he'd clench the locket, hanging around his neck on a sturdy mithril chain, in his palm, until the hunger would subside and the clarity of thought would return to him. After the Battle of Five Armies, when all his friends would be drinking ale in their celebration, he stood up and walked out of the hall. He leaned on the railing of a tall balcony in Erebor, his eyes distant, his thoughts full of the memories of strong hands, strange eyes sparkling in the moonlight and the words of love whispered to him in the attic of a house at the edge of a village in Enedwaith.


	4. Big Fish

**A/N: A prompt from an anonymous Guest! It is so CUTE! :)**

**A/N#2: This one is an emotional compensation for the previous one. As I said before, it contains all the classic elements of Thowren (Thorin+Wren, thank you, RagdollPrincess, for the lovely abbreviation! :D)**

**There is Thea pushing Wren to explore the world of carnal matters, Wren's swooning for the first time in life, she always tends to think she is cold and non-libidinous, they are once again on different pages when it comes to where they are standing in terms of her not being Khazad, marriage and children, and of course, there is an unrealistically glorious shag! Plus Wren's collarbones, Thorin's chest, and Wren grabbing handfuls of his majestic waves. He has a long nose, she is snarky! :)**

* * *

><p><em>That time Thorin tipped his personal sailboat over on a trip to Laketown while barge captain Wren had to fish him out and revive him from the cold water and near-drowning experience.<em>

* * *

><p>"Is the Dwarf dead?" Thea's tone is nonchalant.<p>

"That's what I love about you, my friend. You are a sensitive soul," Wren growls and her hands lie on the Dwarf's chest, she is pressing, keeping the steady rhythm. Then her fingers pinch his long nose, and she presses her lips to his.

"Oh look, Wren, your first kiss, and in such romantic circumstances!" Thea giggles, but then adds, "Unless he conks out of course."

Wren is pressing and counting again. She throws a disapproving look at her friend, and Thea shrugs, "What? Common, love, I'm worried no less, but you are the one who has several years of healer's apprenticeship behind your back. I'm no help here."

Wren's eyes are glued to the pale face of the Dwarf she fished out of the Lake.

"Common," she snarls through gritted teeth and presses her mouth to his again. His lips are cold, and her heart is pounding in her chest painfully.

A violent shudder shakes his body, and he starts coughing. She rolls him on his side, he coughs out about half the Lake, and then starts waving his arms and thrashing. One of his fists meets her cheekbone, she yelps and scampers away from him. Thea rushes to her, Wren's hand is pressed to the side of her face. She looks at the palm, there is blood from broken skin.

He is coughing and gagging on the ground, trying to lift him enormous wide body on his arms.

"Maiar, Wren, are you alright?" Thea turns to the Dwarf. "Sod it, mister! Is that your gratitude for saving your lousy Dwarven life?! Next time one of you mountain Dwellers is sinking in the Lake like a sledgehammer, you can save your own hairy arse yourself!"

"It's alright," Wren's voice is small, eyes giant and hands shaking, "It wasn't his fault."

The Dwarf is mumbling in Khuzdul.

"Damn me if it wasn't! With fists like anvils, he should watch them better!" Thea is giving him an evaluating look. Wren can swear Thea is considering kicking him in his defenseless stomach.

"I'm sorry..." He rasps and finally manages to slightly rise. He shifts and plops on his backside. His blue eyes meet Wren's, and she blinks frantically. "How bad is it?"

"How bad is it?!" Thea roars and steps towards him. She is a threatening presence, two heads taller than him and Wren, and in some enticing areas as wide as the Dwarf on the ground. "She is bleeding, you swinish backside of a Haradrim donkey!" Wren suddenly snorts a small laughter. Both her friend and the Dwarf look at her in astonishment.

"Sorry," she furiously blushes, "I just imagined a half pig, half donkey." Thea bursts in laughter first, the Dwarf joins a bit later. When he is laughing, there are small wrinkles in the corners of his remarkable blue eyes, his white teeth are a stark contrast to the black beard, and Wren chokes on her laughter, her cheeks burning even more.

He tries to get up, wobbly on his feet, and Thea helps him. She is looming over him, and he squares his shoulders. Water is dripping from his soaked garments, and both girls realise it is an ostentatious velvet attire, in royal blue, and Thea gulps.

He gives them both a low ceremonial bow, "Thorin, son of Thrain at your service." They both gasp in shock. Thea steps back from him and hurriedly curtseys. Wren tries to get up from the boulder she was sitting on, but he gestures her to stay seated.

"Please, I owe you my life, and I just shed your blood, don't make me even more embarrassed." He is still unstable on his feet, but he steps to her and carefully takes her hand off her cheekbones. His eyes are attentive and way too close for her comfort. Her lashes flutter, and she can't even look at him from painful shyness. He is studying her cheekbone and then his remarkable eyes shift at her freckled nose. She momentarily laments her abominable looks, but then scolds herself. He is a Dwarf and apparently none other than the King Under the Mountain. Had she been even as enticing as Thea, he wouldn't have spared her a glance.

"My ladies, allow me to invite you to my house to express my gratitude for my saving." Thea claps in excitement. Wren wants to go home. The shocking half formed urges that his build, and nose, and lips, and shoulders, and hands, and eyes, and all the rest of him, each part separately, and especially put together seem to waken in her are making her uncomfortable. She tries to argue but gives in under the double pressure.

They are invited to a feast, after which they are shown around Erebor, Wren is half conscious from all the stimuli by the end of it. Then they are given ostentatious gifts, no one is listening to Wren's protests. In the evening they are placed into two adjoint luxurious rooms, and Wren curls in a small ball on a wide bed with luscious bedding. She suddenly snorts thinking that Thea is probably uncomfortable in hers, since everything in Erebor is perfect for Wren's lacking height. She tries to chase away the thought that the King would be the perfect height for her too, but it's too late. She is tossing and turning in a strange lustful haze, for the first time in her life, and considers banging her head to the headboard.

She comes down for breakfast pale and with purple shadows under her eyes, consoling herself with the thought that she is sufficiently unattractive in general, so not much would tarnish his opinion of her. At breakfast the King expresses concern for her health, and she chokes on her coffee. He suggests she stays for a few days to prevent falling ill, and she wants to run with a loud scream. She wonders how much more of this torture she can survive when she catches Thea's mischievous eyes over the rim of her cup. Headbanging becomes an even more attractive pastime.

The tour continues, and at some point Wren pleads repose. She is escorted back into her room, and she falls in the bed. She buries her burning face into a pillow and whines. A few hours later there is a knock at her door, and she drags herself to open it. He is standing in the doorframe, slightly smiling, with a tray of food in his hands. She notes to herself that she was an idiot when she thought it couldn't have gotten worse, here is the proof that it always can.

He comes in and places the tray on a table. She has a long list of things to mumble, such as that kings are not supposed to wait on simple barge captains, that he has expressed sufficient gratitude by now, and that she might throw up from nerves from just being in the same room with him, when he swiftly grabs the back of her head and catches her mouth in a mind blowing kiss. He obviously knows what he is doing, she doesn't. Her arms are flailing like banners at the wind, until they finally wrap around his neck. After a few minutes she is left breathless and dizzy.

"Was that your first kiss, honourable captain?" His voice is soft, and he leans in again, this time kissing her under her ear. She tries to squish down a happy whimpering sound that wants to erupt out of her, but she fails.

"The second one. The first one was me trying to get water out of your lungs." He chuckles into her skin, and her knees give in. He catches her under her arms, and proceeds to create some sort of magic all over her jaw and neck and then collarbones. She is shaking and clenching his tunic. It might be the only thing keeping her upright, but she is also afraid he'll stop.

"You are amazing..."

"No I am not, but please go on," she can never keep her snarkiness under control and is worried for a second. He seems to like it though, because a soft laughter rumbles in his chest, and he cuts her down under her knees, picks her up and sits on the nearest chair. After arranging her on his lap he opens his mouth to say something, but she might have developed an addiction by then. She lunges ahead and pressed her lips to his. Last night she eventually had to release her tension, thrice, and his hair played an important part in her mental exercises. She grabs handfuls of it and moans into his mouth. He is cupping the back of her head, and his second hand lies on her chest. She makes an appreciative noise and swiftly shifts, straddling him. He tears his mouth from hers and stared at her in a surprised amusement.

"Your friends told me you are a spinster and a know-it-all."

"Don't talk, you'll talk, I'll get nervous and will start questioning this," she pulls his head to her lips again, and he guffaws.

"How am I supposed to woo you if I'm not talking?"

"You are doing great as it is."

* * *

><p>She wakes up in his arms, her nose buried in his chest.<p>

"What time is it?"

"It's after sunset some time," his voice is soft, and he rolls over her. She looks at his face in the dark and grins widely to him.

"Are we continuing?" She sounds very eager, but she doesn't care. It's a safe day, and she has just gotten the taste of intimacy with an experienced lover. It's fun, and she wants more. He is kissing her neck.

"We need to talk first," his actions certainly do not concur with his actions, since his lips are already on her stomach. She giggles from the beard scratching her skin.

"Can it wait?"

"No," he is drawing some patterns on her skin with the tip of his nose. "What if you are with child already?" She lifts her head and stares at him.

"I am not. It's safe today. And you are a Dwarf! Is such child even possible? And again, have you only considered it now?" He nips the skin and then licks the bite.

"No, but I thought you might have forgotten about this possibility."

She scampers from his arms and rolled on the edge of the bed. He is on his stomach, his torso supported on his elbows, he is gorgeous, and he is giving her a merry look from under a lifted brow.

"Did you try to make a baby?" It sounds as if she is talking about a loaf of bread. He laughs, his shoulders are shaking, and he drops his head. She is momentarily distracted by the view of his wavy locks. They felt amazing when brushing her nape while his hips were thrusting into her from behind. She wills herself to concentrate.

"Not particularly, but I kept it in mind," he smiles, the white teeth are sparkling in the dim moonlight, and she wonders if he is slightly not right in the head.

"What?... Why?... Are you?..." She has nothing. He is chuckling and not helping her to gather her thoughts. She pulls the blanket to her chest and is staring at him. "Are you mad?"

"No," he grabs her ankles and pulls her to him. Then he proceeds to kiss her inner thighs, and she starts panting. "I am proposing." This time she can't even form the one word exclamatory questions.

"Muh?!... Whuh?!..."

He slightly bites at her hip and guffaws, "So there is after all a way to hinder your eloquence, Wren from Enedwaith. Good to know."

"But you are a king!" It's not much, but at least it's coherent. He dismisses it with a wave of his hand, his lips busy way too close to her center for her comfort and her sanity.

"You don't know me!"

He lifts his face, makes a "nah" sound and smirks to her. He seems to be waiting for an answer. She can't think of any.

"But… but… we can't build a marriage on this!" She vaguely gestures around his face pretty much between her legs, and he licks her thigh.

"Of course we can, but we might as well as add respect and friendship into the mix." That sobers her up. She pushes away from him and rolls off the bed, deftly pulling one of the covers off and wrapping into it.

"No."

"No?" He lifts a brow again, but she suddenly realises she is adamant.

"No, I can't marry a man unless I love him. And he loves me." He sits up, in all his naked glory, and she shifts her eyes somewhere above his shoulder. Everything about him flusters her, she needs to stay focused.

"Do you not love me? You lay with me, I'm your first." He sounds rather mocking, and she pouts.

"Surely as a Khazad you do not necessarily require feeling for..." She funnily points at the rumpled bed and blushes remembering what has transpired in it.

"I don't. But something tells me you do. You seem entirely too honourable and uptight to give your body to a man you do not love."

"I don't know you!" She is whining, and he beckons her with a finger. She wants to snarl back, but it's him. She makes a small step ahead, but she is still out of his reach.

He shift at the edge of the bed and grabs the corner of the sheet she wrapped herself into. He pulls, she stumbles, and here she is, right between his wide set legs. He starts gently rubbing her buttocks under the sheets, and she feels like purring and curling into him.

"I like you, Wren from Enedwaith, you are funny, snarky and very brave when you let yourself," he is kissing her stomach now, and she doesn't notice when the sheet disappears. "You will be a good wife to me and a good mother for my children if any are to come." In her drunk mind she remembers that she is no Dwarf, and she opens her mouth to remind him of that, but his thick finger dips into her, and she raspily moans.

"I am a king and I make my own decisions. I did everything I had to for my people, and now I want something for myself," his tone is soft but decisive, and he is rubbing her inner walls knowing perfectly well what brings most pleasure. She has dropped her head back, and her hands are pressed into his shoulders to keep her upright.

"I want you for myself, Wren, and I'll have you."

She climaxes and sags into his stretched arms. He puts her on his lap and tenderly wraps his arms around her. She is mewling in rapture surrounded by his warmth and breathes out, "Yes, Thorin, you have me."


	5. Peter Jackson Was Right!

**A/N: Something tells me, dear ****Wynni****, that's NOT what you had in mind, but I'm not very fond of FF today (especially my own :D), so yeah… :P**

* * *

><p><em>That one time, while Thorin's scouting a party of orcs, while Wren's figuring how the devil she wound up in Middle Earth (genre savvy Wren)<em>

* * *

><p>"Fuck my brain," mumbles Wren, "Peter Jackson was right about everything!" She is staring at Thorin Oakenshield, in his dark blue attire, bloodied face and shite. She is hazy on the original, she read the book when she was six, but judging by the dirt and limping that part is just after the pines and Azog.<p>

(Was the scary pale dude even _in_ the book?)

Wren never was really into fantasy, in her teen years she was more about Azimov and spaceships and robots, there was a trekkie phase there too, but these days, seriously, Dwarves are hot and fanfiction is kinky, so why not?

She has a couple of super geeky friends, and her friend Stella told her that hobbits were not supposed to have large feet and Dwarven (or is it Dwarvish? Dwarvese? or sod it...) chicks didn't have beards, and it's just Tolkien's joke that PJ decided to take too far, and seriously, Wren doesn't care, as long as Liv Tyler is on the screen.

The hobbit has large feet, and Thorin Oakenshield drops on one knee in front of her. He is loudly proclaiming something in some throaty language and it DOESN'T sound what that Brit was snarling through his teeth (and they are that fucking white and even as in the film, and they really shouldn't be, Wren doubts they floss in ME) towards that cute tall blonde (yeah, Wren knows it's a wig, but seriously, she feels slightly confused when it comes to Thrandy). Huh, so not everything is like in the film...

She makes a step back from him. Seriously, she would really prefer to watch it on a screen (2D only, 3D is overpriced and you forget about it in like five minutes, and with her glasses the second pair is plain uncomfortable) as opposed to being suddenly teleported (transported? portalized?) here in her PJs.

A. It is cold. B. The Dwarves stink. Which makes perfect sense since they've been marching through mountains for hell knows how long, and she doubts they carry soap and shampoos with them. Another thing PJ arsed up. Yes, their hair is braided, but yuck, it's dirty.

Mr. T Oakenshield does indeed have a long nose and piercing blue eyes, and hell, he is not an old man from her childhood book, but let's face he looks a bit… well, daft. Like plank. Thick. Dimwitted. Borderline moronic. Medically speaking. Kili and Fili (she only remembers their names because of all the memes on Tumblr, the rest of the shorties get blurred into bla-bla-bur mash of unpleasantly sounding similar names) are standing a wee bit to the back, no less dirty, no more bright looking. Altogether one can hardly hope for an intellectual convo with these plonkers.

"Um, your majesty… King something something, can you please get up and speak English… I mean, the speech I'm using, whatever the fuck it's called in here… men's speech… thing..."

He rises, a daft grin on his idiotic face and proclaims (seriously, pompous much?), "Ghivashel, hail this day! The prophecy was true! My Queen has arrived!"

Wren looks around, and an unpleasant feeling creeps into her stomach. She seems to be the only person with a fanny here. "Huh?"

"Kurdu," he grabs her hands, and again, yuck, pongy! And the hands are sticky! (Internal screaming intensifies.) "Allow my nephews to escort you back to Ered Luin where you'll wait for my return from my glorious quest to reclaim the Kingdom of my Fathers! I will join you soon and we will unite in a happy royal marriage."

"What the fuck, dude?!" He blinks but apparently not much reaches his Neanderthal brain.

"There was a prophecy which predicted your arrival, azyungel. You are to be my Queen and the Queen of Erebor."

OK. OK. Wren tells herself she is OK. "Listen, dude, I get it, you have patriarchy here and no one asks a chick what she wants and stuff, but there is a wee bit of a problem here. I'm gay."

He is studying her with a slightly open mouth, and she once again agrees with her previous observations: the wheel is spinning, but the hamster is dead.

"I am exuberant as well, haban," he gives her a daft bow.

"Oh for fuck sake… Ugh, are you plank? But yeah, I guess, if it's Middle Earth and Martin Freeman said the book is seventy five years old, so I guess it's all hush hush for you, and probably wouldn't seep into the meta here. OK, put it simply, I like boobs and fannies." She is met with thirteen blank faces. (There isn't a single tree here, otherwise there would be *headbanging* here) "I like women." She offers. It doesn't register. "Like you do, I do too, OK? Like no dangly dangly for me! No cocks, just chicks?" She tries another statement, "No? Ugh... " She makes a vague gesture that is suppose to mimic a shag, but probably looks like she is miming skiing. "This… This I prefer to do with women. Not this..." She gestures around his crotch.

"My lady," the King's tone is suddenly condescending, "I care not about your preferences. I myself prefer hobbits, male hobbits." Bilbo at the background starts loudly sobbing. Bofur pulls him into tight embrace, comforting noises and back patting included. Sod it all, not only PJ was right, slash ahoy apparently. "We will only have to do it to ensure an heir. You will take your place at my throne..."

"Wow, dude, _at_ your throne? Am I a lapdog in this scenario?"

"Do not antagonize me, woman!" The shortie suddenly yells, face red and fists clenched. (Liberally speaking 'shortie,' they are the same height.) Right, he is supposed to be temperamental. That was totally inconsistent, but whatever. Since he is shagging a hobbit, god knows what else all those mad FF writers were right about. The next thing is Dwalin and Ori and a few Elves did indeed have an orgy in Mirkwood.

Wren just wants to go home. The Dwarves make a step towards her, and she really doesn't like the determination in their eyes. All the non-cons fics start floating in her mind, and she gulps. She wants to run, and then a shimmering ring appears in the air and another redhead falls out of it. She looks like Wren, well, she probably is Wren (Alt!Wren? Wren2? Anti-Wren?), and if Wren were a bloke, this one would have a goatee. Wren did have a trekkie phase, and yes, the new one looks evil and daft. Wren1 makes a quick decision and jumps into the portal.

Her arse lands on her bed, and she falls on her back with a loud relieved groan. Phew, that could have ended much worse. She starts dragging off the PJs, seriously, the stench seemed to have seeped into it. She runs in a shower and is thoroughly enjoying the hot water stream drumming at her nape when there is a loud insistent knock at her door.

The robe is nowhere to be found, she wraps in a towel and minces to the door. There is no peep hole, and they have a concierge. She opens it, and there is a tall fit chick standing in the corridor, dark hair and bright blue eyes. The face is long and narrow, exactly Wren's type, and if Wren had knickers on, they'd be on the floor by now. Everything is perfect, long lean body, of a swimmer or volleyball player, soft pink lips, and mind-blowing cheekbones. And the nose! Long straight nose! Bloody fuck… Wren has a kink and isn't ashamed of it.

"Hi, I'm your new neighbour! Just thought I'd say hello and..." The chick's voice is like caramel, she sees the towel and stutters. Wren is swooning… "Sorry, to interrupt… I'm Jenny, Jenny Thorington."

Apparently, universe insists.


	6. Punch-Drunk and Merry

_That one time that Thorin finally found the dwarf maiden of his dreams, while Wren was trying out a new mead recipe._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: I'll confess to a wee bit of cheating, ****my lovelies****. Wynni and I have discussed this prompt before it took its final shape, and the credit for the Wren in this story goes to Wynni.**

* * *

><p>This story is also known as...<p>

**The Story in Which Wren is Finally Mind-Blowingly Enticing From Everyone's Point of View**

Love hit Thorin Oakenshield like the best Dwarven straight pein hammer, hard, but unlike the tools of the Khazad, dishonourably, to the vulnerable back of his head. A Dwarf of two hundred years was not supposed to turn into a love sick puppy in a blink of an eye, but that was exactly what happened.

In the middle of the restoration works in Erebor, two years after the Battle of Five Armies, already a King and finally, as he naively thought then, a man in peace, Thorin was having a rather pleasant audience day. His citizens were given a chance to share their concerns and grievances with their liege, the population of the Kingdom Under the Mountain growing rapidly. Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror, enjoyed assisting and solving their vexations, as well as knowing what was happening to his people.

It seemed the endless stream of visitors was finally ebbing, when the doors to the Smaller Throne Hall burst open, and a clearly enraged Dwarven maiden rushed in. He noticed the mane of flaming orange curls and an appetizing bouncy bosom, after all the King was a man too. She was clad in a stylish expensive travel attire and marched approaching his throne. After the first glimpse on her high-cheekboned, beauteous face the Kind had to tear his eyes off her and pay the well-deserved attention to the Dwarf she was dragging into the room, his long white beard clasped in her small fist.

She bowed and spoke in a clear confident voice, "My King, I have come to ask for justice." He gave her a small nod and shifted his eyes at the Dwarf on her improvised leash. His face was scrunched in pain and embarrassment, but the King noticed the victim wasn't fighting.

She threw the beard away from her with an indignation and disgust on her face and pointed at the Dwarf. "I have agreed to marry him, but now he is cancelling the wedding. It's an honour to marry me, my ancestors were among those reclaiming Gundabad from the Orcs of the Dark Lord! I have fulfilled my side of our contract, and now he is not keeping his word!"

The King lifted one brow and looked at the male Dwarf. The latter was still surprisingly silent, his eyes shifting and brows jumping up and down.

"Explain yourself, honourable sir," the King spoke softly, but to his shock the man looked at the maiden for permission to speak. Surely, the word of the King would outweigh that of a given alluring but still just a maiden! She twitched her nose in a strange nervous gesture and nodded curtly apparently allowing the Dwarf to speak. The King's eyebrows jumped up.

"My King, I did indeed offer this maiden my hand in marriage, and she travelled here to become my wife, but the six months of betrothal are indeed established for that I have a right to abdicate my rights for her hand..." The girl inhaled, and the Dwarf pressed his head into his shoulders. The glare she was giving him was clearly stating that she doubted such a spineless, gormless worm had any right for anything.

"What is your name?"

"Werna, daughter of Lyr." She squared her shoulders.

"I was asking the man, Werna, daughter of Lyr." The King added some steel into his tone and saw her blink a few times nervously. She didn't seem intimidated even close to the degree he expected though.

"Roin, son of Nali," the man looked at the King hopefully, "I am a mead and cordials merchant from Ered Luin, I was hoping to establish a shop in Erebor..." The King raised his hand, and the man choked on his words.

"What is the reason for the change of your heart, Roin, son of Nali? Has this maiden committed any crime against you?" Thorin thought he heard a scornful puff of air from the red haired Khazad, but when he looked at her, her face was schooled in a cold haughty expression.

"I do not think our marriage will be… fruitful..." Master Roin pronounced in an uncertain tone, throwing cautious looks at the woman. She flared her nostrils. "I do not dispute lady Werna's many virtues, and her talents in brewery are well-known, and she would indeed be the perfect companion for me in my business, but I just think I might not be the right Dwarf..." The King saw her narrow her eyes and had to place his fist in front of his mouth hiding a smile. Master Roin looked increasingly terrified. He rushed to mollify the enraged maiden. "I think I'm possibly not Dwarf enough..." It made it worse. She took a deep breath, the King couldn't help but notice how her tantalizing chest rose, and she already opened her mouth but the King spoke.

"Has he committed any crimes against you, lady Werna? He does indeed have the right to cancel the wedding. Just as you do." She looked at the King defiantly and jerked her chin up.

"He has no reason for it. I know my worth. I am of noble family, and he wasn't to marry me for my beauty, he wanted my family recipes and my talent. I'm willing to give it all to him. I haven't commited a single false step in this betrothal and my dowry is generous. I am the wife anyone would be happy to have."

The more emotional she got, the brighter the blush on her face grew. She was indeed one of the most beautiful women the King had seen, and he didn't doubt the rest of men in the room were equally affected. She had unusual slanted eyes, of a mesmerizing fire opal colour, enticing red lips, the upper one curved giving her face stubborn and capricious expression, the bottom one plump and soft, and her neck was long and elegant, her red head set proudly. A low square cut on her velvet doublet showed a white tunic with exquisite lace underneath, with a promise of what was hidden under it. She had a narrow waist for a Dwarven maiden but it was generously compensated by round alluring hips, clearly seen at the moment in her travelling trousers.

"If neither of the betrothed has committed any misdeed, but one of them wished to cease their association, the betrothal is to be nulled." The King gave the woman in front of him an attentive look. "You can consider yourself a free woman, Werna, daughter of Lyr. Just as the man beside you." Thorin realised he was speaking to the woman instead of the man, and he felt disturbed. It was inappropriate, but then he realised he had a much bigger aggravation rising in his throne hall. She narrowed her eyes at him, he could not believe she would dare behaving such way towards her King, and then she clenched her fists.

"Then I demand compensation for my trouble. I have travelled from Ered Luin, I have brought my barrels, I was willing to disclose my family's secret recipe, I demand to be remunerated for this."

"Yes, yes, of course..." The Dwarf near her was shaking, relief spreading on his face, and Thorin slightly shook his head in disbelief. He looked to his right and saw Dwalin who was sitting by the wall clenching his jaws, suppressing laughter, his face red and shoulders shaking. Werna, daughter of Lyr was short even for a Dwarven maiden, she looked like a statuette intricately carved out of moonstone, pale radiant skin, graceful lines and glow coming off her, and yet the man near her was blanched from sheer horror at her fury. At the moment Thorin felt there were also waves of heat radiating from her, while Master Roin was all but whimpering happily from his impending release from a fate that he apparently considered worse than death.

"And I demand the King to try my mead." Thorin was exchanging knowing looks with Dwalin, when he heard this new arrogation. He whipped his head and looked at her again. The slanted eyes met his, she did not waver, even though he gave her his best intimidating stare. Their eyes locked, he slightly lifted one brow, it worked wonders on the cockiness of men, none could withstand, and then Werna, daughter of Lyr narrowed her eyes at him again, and the plump red bottom lip pouted stubbornly.

"You are speaking out of term, lass! It is your King in front of you!" One of the older Dwarves stood up from his at a table by the wall, she turned to him, and Thorin wondered what her stare was like to make the white bearded Khazad wince away and plop back on his jacksie. Thorin felt flabberghasted, she was amusing and infuriating at the same time, and then she turned back to him. And then she was insolent enough to lift a brow as if showing she was still expecting his answer! He kept his face unreadable, although he had to admit it required much more effort than usually, and she exhaled sharply, flaring the nostrils of her elegant nose.

"I brought the barrel of the best mead that had ever been made in my brewery to Erebor, I was hoping to gift my King with it as part of celebration of my marriage," her tone was venomous, "I am certain once Thorin, son of Thrain, son of Thror tries my mead he will not want any other. I was deprived of a chance to offer it to my King, I demand one sip."

The curls of coppered gold were scattered on her shoulders, having escaped the intricate do, thick glossy plaids weaved into it, a few flirty locks brushing at her neck when she would derisively jerk her head, and Thorin shortly wondered whether they were as soft as they looked. And then he assumed he was running a fever and required a draught. The woman, though alluring, was insolent, bordering to disrespectful, arrogant and imperious. She was clearly certain she was always right and held others rather low in her opinion. And yet, he wondered what her lips tasted like. She was fresh, full of life and fire, he was two hundred years and was suddenly overcome with adolescent infatuation!

"If this resolves this issue finally, I shall try a sip," his tone was merry yet mocking, and other men in the room laughed. He was indulging her without losing his face, he kept his expression disdainful and annoyed, and she inhaled, the lace on her cleavage fluttered, and only years of training and the upbringing of a monarch allowed him to keep his eyes away from it.

"The barrel is outside these doors, it didn't fit through the passage," she twitched her nose again, and he could not believe it! Did she expect him to get up and walk to the barrel? "I need a goblet." Her face was suddenly lost, and he felt petty vengeful pleasure from the view of her deflating self-assurance. She looked around her, and then her eyes fell on a goblet he had on a small table near his arm. She rushed ahead, and suddenly she was standing right in front of him. And then she halted, apparently such impudence was too much even for her.

The fragrance of lilac hit his nose, she was even more lovely up close, he saw freckles peppering the delicate nose, and he realised her eyes were roaming his face. That was not how subjects would look at their King. Her eyes lingered on his mouth, and he saw her lips twitch and her lashes flutter. And then she shook off the haze, and he understood she was going to step back. And that was when he jumped up on his feet. He was two hundred years, he was a King, and Mahal help him, for once he was doing what he wanted, damn what others thought of him! He picked up the goblet and spoke into her shocked widened eyes, "Lead the way, Werna, daughter of Lyr."

Astonished silence hung in the hall, she blinked, her red lips slightly opened, but he knew he was not mistaken in her, she quickly gathered her wits, bowed, and sharply turning around she started marching to the door. Dwarves on both sides of the aisle, some sitting on benches, several behind long tables, some with maps frozen in their hands mid-air, many jaws slacking, watched their King calmly walk behind the minuscule woman, while his eyes were on her straight back and then on the perky round buttocks. Travelling trousers of dark red velvet hugged her curves in the most enticing of ways, she had small feet, clad in expensive soft boots, and she held her head high and strode to the door between the rows of astounded faces. There was something regal in her bearing, he shortly thought, and he smirked.

They stepped out of the hall and because she was standing so close, and her lashes were fluttering, she was slowly realising what bizarre abnormality was transpiring around her, he threw a stern look at the guard at the door, and the Dwarf quickly closed the door, disappearing on the other side of it. She gasped, she realised they were alone in the passage all of a sudden, and he saw her gulp, her delicate throat moved, and she stared at him.

"One sip, Werna, daughter of Lyr," he spoke in low voice, and feverish red spots bloomed on her high cheekbones, "You have one sip to prove to me that there is no better taste in all my Kingdom."

And then she took a deep breath in and squared her shoulders. Her eyes flashed, and her mouth twisted. And then she suddenly pushed her delicate little fingers in the lace of her tunic, right between the two round perky breasts he was pretending he was not thinking about, and she pulled out a key on a long sturdy chain pinched between her index finger and her thumb, her little pinky sticking out, and she quickly opened a lock secured around the spigot of her barrel.

Thick liquid splashed into his goblet she carefully picked up from his hand, and she handed it back to him, her cool strong fingers brushing his, and he looked at the drink, of the same remarkable colour as her eyes. He lifted the goblet to his lips, she was watching him, her teeth sunk into her bottom lip, and he smirked over the rim of the goblet. Their eyes locked again, and he took a sip. While fragrant mead flooded his senses, he saw her lick her lips, and he quickly lowered the drink, pushed the goblet onto the nearest surface, and stepping to her in one large stride he cupped the back of her head, her hands flew up to his face, he saw her lips smile an instant before he sealed a kiss on them, and he wrapped the second arm around her waist.

She tasted of honey and was just as refreshing and intoxicating as her mead. His head swam, full of some sort of sweet fog, and he pressed her into him tighter. She was quite obviously returning his fervour, her small hands was grasping his shoulders, her lips moved with his, and a soft purring sound reached his hearing. She was also arching into him, her fingers now scraping the back of his head, and he started laughing, from her playfulness and her passion, and from some sort of simple and warm certainty he was feeling. He slightly moved away, without releasing her from his arms, and looked into her flushed face. Her eyes were giant and her lips bright and swollen, and she was the most beautiful woman he had seen in the two hundred years.

"So, my King," her voice was coarse, "Is there taste better in all your Kingdom?" Her tone, though she sounded rather breathy, was defiant, and he guffawed and caught her mouth again. Insolent woman!

She would make the perfect Queen for Erebor, he thought, and then he quickly kissed her jaw and her small burning ear and whispered into it, a copper curl, just as soft as he had been hoping, brushing his nose, "There is nothing better in my Kingdom."


	7. A Note From the Author

**My darlings,**

**I have removed the chapter with baby Fili and baby Kili from this fic, as it sprouted at least two more. I'm transferring it from here into a separate story called "Thorin's Promise." Please, favourite/follow if you feel like it!**

**Loads of love,**

**kkolmakov**


	8. Over the Hill

**A/N: I was in the mood for 'firsts' today :D I found I have three more prompts in old reviews, ****Neewa****'s bee one and ****UKReader****'s boot one. Have I forgotten anybody? Feel free to remind me, I will write them all one day!**

**A/N#2: Thank you, ****dearreader****, for your prompts! I'm merging two of yours together, since this one didn't have the second part :)**

**A/N#3: As disappointed as I was by the third film, this story is based on it more than on the book. Perhaps, I'm still processing it… :)**

* * *

><p><em>The time Thorin was exploring the lands around the mountain and discovered a shortcut to the place where his heart lived, while Wren didn't know directions.<em>

* * *

><p>It had been a year since the Battle of Five Armies, and King Thorin II was sitting in his study, when a courtier came bringing news of a hidden passage being found in the Southern side of the Mountain. Dwalin rushed into the King's study an instant later, his fierce eyes burning.<p>

"You should see it, it is the steps! The old steps your sigin'adad had spoken of!"

"The raven passage?" The King's eyebrows twitched in disbelief. He had obviously heard of the legends, when he was a child his grandfather loved to tell him stories of a tunnel allegedly leading from Erebor to Ravenhill, but even Thror seemed to think them nothing but yarn.

The tattooed warrior nodded, and Thorin heavily rose from the table. These days he preferred to walk as little as possible, his right leg was almost healed, but the healers warned him it would never serve him properly anymore. He could not bend his knee, and a walking cane had become his constant companion. And still the news were so exciting that he followed the Dwarves, though irritation was rising in him with each step. He would never get accustomed to being invalid.

The passage was narrow, and the door, low even for the Khazad was decorated with old runes and an intricate carving of two ravens seemingly tilting their heads in a conversation.

_Here lies the passage to Bâha-zunsh-hund, the Hill of Ravens, the guard post of the Dwarves of Erebor._

Thorin pushed the heavy door, stale air gushed out, and the Dwarves standing by it started coughing from the dust that clouded the passage. It was thin and soft, clearly untouched for decades, and it carried no dragon stench. The passage had been closed through the years of Smaug's siege.

Thorin stepped in, ignoring Dwalin's warning call. The warrior wanted to follow him, but Thorin stopped him with a wave of his hand. The tunnel was narrow, and he did not like to be treated as less capable these days. He certainly did not require a nursery maid.

"At least take some water," Dwalin's exasperated tone from behind made Thorin clench his jaw in irritation, "If the legends are true, it's three hour walk one way."

"Do not fret, mother, I will be back for dinner," Thorin sneered and grabbed the water skin from Dwalin's hands. Their eyes met, and shaking off his peevishness Thorin chuckled. They were bickering like an old married couple. Dwalin gave him his usual one-sided smirk, and Thorin started his journey.

* * *

><p>After two hours or so, he was cursing his own stubbornness. The leg hurt, the lantern in his hand felt heavy, and to distract himself from monotonous view of smooth stone walls and from the pain, he kept on sipping water, and now the nature called.<p>

He grumbled under his nose, berating himself for childish desire to prove himself capable. He should have sent someone younger, some guards, or Kili or Fili. He imagined a stone in the ceiling coming loose over the decades of a heavy dragon jumping above it, and then he could just envision the boulder collapsing on him and leaving Erebor kingless. That would serve him right, he thought, and wondered if he were to sit to give his leg some rest. He glared at the cane in irritation, but kept on walking.

Another half an hour later the air seemed to be changing, and he started thinking the darkness was less dense now, but all his thoughts were preoccupied with was finding some bushes and ridding himself of the pressure in his bladder.

And then suddenly the tunnel ended, and he stepped outside. The evening was soft, and the Spring had already brought warmth and sweetness to the air. He quickly looked around and realised he was indeed on Ravenhill, but it was some sort of a ledge in the side of it, hidden from eyes of those looking at the hill from any other angle. He had little time for exploration though, he quickly stepped to the nearest bushed and jerked the belt on his trousers.

As soon as he closed his eyes in indescribable relief, the bushes moved, rustled, and then he heard a quiet little squeak. His eyes flew open, he saw a flash of something copper and green, another squeak, the sound of a tumbling body, branches breaking, and a sound of a small body falling on the ground. He jerked as well, his unfortunate position making it very hard for him to do anything but wait for his body to complete its business.

While he was gathering his wits, more rustling followed, the person who jumped away from the view of his organ was trying to scamper away without rising, and he could finally tie up his breeches and trousers, and stepped through the shrubs pushing the branches aside.

* * *

><p>He saw a girl of Men, on her backside, trying to push from the ground with her feet in small leather slippers, and somehow the first thing he noticed were her slender ankles, her skirts bunched up around her knees. He then glanced at her face, she was young and skinny, odd to say the least, angular freckled face, copper curls braided into a loose plait. Her cheeks were burning, and he rightfully assumed she indeed had stepped out of the bushes exactly in the moment when he pulled his member out.<p>

She was now staring at him in terror, and suddenly he found the situation endlessly amusing. A loud guffaw burst out of him, he laughed and laughed, his body was quaking so hard that he pressed his unoccupied hand to his stomach, leaning on the cane in the other hand. She looked so flabberghasted, still pressing a basket she had with her to her chest, she had strange eyes, slanted and of some unusual colour, and they were wide open, pupils giant, and he just could not cease his merriment.

"That is not funny!" She suddenly spoke, and he saw her narrow her eyes at him. "You should be ashamed of yourself! Wait till your King finds out how you treat innocent maidens!" That only caused him to laugh louder. She finally moved and got up on her feet. She was hardly his height, and she pushed her braid over her shoulder in irritation.

"Forgive me," he croaked, still not capable of suppressing his frolics, "I did not expect to see anyone here, and all that water..." He roared with laughter again, and she stomped her foot.

"Of course you were not to see anyone here, you are not even supposed to be on this ledge! How did you get here? No one is to know of it!" He straightened up and gave her a look over, still chuckling.

She had an apron around her minuscule waist, all her clothes were poor but pristine clean, and he caught the smell of freshly baked bread from her basket.

"I doubt you are supposed to be here either, my lady. Did you come from Dale?" He looked her over, there was something strange about her attire. It was a simple dress, not of Dale or Esgaroth fashion, and he realised that she probably made it herself. She seemed to belong nowhere and have come from nowhere. Thorin lacked any romantic imagination but the girl seemed like a ghost.

"No, I have not," she quietly answered. "And you? Have you come from Erebor?" Her eyes jumped behind him, and she saw the opening to the tunnel. She gasped and dropped the basket. "Is that the passage to Erebor? Is it open now?" He studied her face. She looked terrified and, put simply, heart-broken.

"It is indeed."

"Oh no..." He saw her grow pale and suddenly sway. "It is over then..." He did not understand, he stepped closer to support her, but he moved slowly these days, and she sagged on the ground and started crying desperately. Large unrestrained tears ran down her face, and she pressed her hands over her mouth to suppress loud sobs falling from her lips. Thorin felt lost, he rarely had to deal with crying women and cared for such company even less.

"My lady, could you cease this?" He asked in an uncertain voice, but she only weeped more bitterly.

"Now I have to leave, oh why did it have to happen?.." She wailed, and he felt he should reassure her, but he did not understand the reason of her lament. "Now the Khazad will come and take my home away… Your people will..." She dropped her hands passively on her skirts and more tears rolled down her face, her eyes immediately red and puffy. The nose grew red as well, and she sniffled. "After all these years I will have to find another place..."

Thorin seemed to be grasping some of the meaning, and he carefully stepped closer to her. And then her eyes fell on his leg, her body jolted, and she sharply lifted her face to him.

"You are him! You are Thorin Oakenshield! You are the King Under the Mountain!" He nodded, and she shied away from him. "Oh no, of all people..." She sobbed again and hid her face behind her hands.

"Fair maiden, perhaps you should calm down and speak clearly. I can hardly understand anything of your bemoaning!" He sounded peevish and felt so as well.

"I am Wren, I am the great granddaughter of the last Ravenhill Keeper," she lowered her hands and looked at him sorrowfully. "Before the Dwarves established this post my family had lived in these woods, my kin were friends with the ravens, and when the Khazad built this tower, the ravens showed my ancestors this ledge. There is a house, and the Erebor Kings of the Old knew of us, but then we were allowed to live here in peace, and the tunnel was barricaded, then it became just a legend, and we kept on living here. We take care of the ravens, and they take care of us. I look after the old and mend broken wings. I am the last one left." Her face wavered, and the strange eyes filled with tears again. "I have never seen the outside world, I cannot leave… I am scared..." She cried harder, and he was pondering the strange person in front of him. The story explained the strange homemade dress, the childish manners and the innocence in the eyes.

She sat slouching, her face pressed into her open palms, and he saw a pale vulnerable neck, the nape with small runaway curls, and then he noticed scars. They covered what he could see of the shoulders in the collar of her dress and seemingly went down to the shoulder blades. Judging by the colour they were about a year old.

"Where did you get these scars?" She straightened up, and her hands flew up to her throat. He realised he had missed another long one on the side of her neck.

"The bats..." Her voice was quiet, raspy from the crying, and he frowned. He remembered the bats, the day the five armies clashed at the Erebor Gate the cursed winged creatures covered the sky, and it grew dark. "They did not know it was a secret ledge, I suppose," her tone was venomous, and she pulled at the collar of her dress trying to cover the markings on her pale skin.

"How did you fight them off?" He remembered the size of the bats, and she hardly looked like a fierce warrior.

"Pathetically badly, as you can see," her answer was sarcastic, and she got up. "The ravens helped me, and I am rather good with throwing knives. But let's say had I ever wanted to go down the hill and found myself a husband to continue my line, that would have been much harder after that day." She seemed to now have reigned her emotions, squared her shoulders and looked him in the eyes directly. "So, I suppose I should be grateful that I will not have to wait for my answer and will know my destiny now. Do I need to leave the hill, my King? The land belongs to you, and now that you have the passage, you will use the outpost..."

"Were you here when I fought Azog?" He could not wrap his mind around it, someone had lived here all these years. She nodded, and then he stepped closer to her. "That day, I fell after my fight with Azog, I was dying, the hobbit rushed down to the camp, Beorn came and carried me to Erebor. There was discombobulation, many wounded and dead, the healers came, the Grey Wizard was treating me, the Elvenking… I was not to live, but I did… And then, when the chaos was ebbing, and the confusion was over, the Grey Wizard asked me who was the first to treat my wounds, because the one in my chest that was to be fatal was applied pressure on, right after the blow, and that was what saved my life..." He stepped even closer, and he saw her face set in stubborn lines. "The blood was everywhere, there was so much of it, but something tells me not all of it on my armour was mine, was it, fair maiden?" She made a small step back hiding her eyes.

* * *

><p>"<em>Thorin, Thorin..." The world was floating in disgusting red haze, and he jerked on the low cot in the healer's tent. "Thorin, I have to ask you," the wizard's face looked thinned and tired, and Thorin tried to focus on it, "Do you remember anything after the fight? Do you remember?"<em>

"_Bilbo..." Thorin's voice hardly listened to him, his throat burning and scratched, "We talked… I forgave him… Or he me..."_

"_Yes, yes, and after that? There were bandages on you, Thorin. A rough fabric, ribbons of fabric, torn from some attire… Do you remember that?" Thorin searched his mind, but all he remembered was the pain, and then agony of his body being moved and carried by the Skinchanger, and he weakly shook his head._

"_There was magic on you, Thorin. The magic I know nothing of, or have forgotten about, some ancient forgotten spell. It is foreign, not meant for Dwarves, or any race walking the earth for that matter, but it stopped the bleeding for a while, and mended the bones in your right arm..."_

* * *

><p>Thorin moved the fingers on his right hand, it had been broken in the fight, he was not to wield a sword ever again, and yet it moved freely, and he could still fight and write with it.<p>

"The crows told me where you were. I did not know my way around that part of the hill, but they led me to you… I could not leave you there..." He studied her face, and she blushed under his scrutiny. He so often had thought back on that conversation with the wizard.

"Have you patched my wing, fair maiden? Should I be concerned I am to start cawing instead of speaking?" He asked her, teasing seeping in his tone, and she jerked her chin up haughtily.

"You had little to lose, my King. If you had started sprouting feathers after my healing, it would have still been better than a tomb under your mountain."

"Fair enough," he nodded, and then she looked down at his leg.

"I tried… The leg, I knew it was maimed as well, but I… lost consciousness..." She looked ashamed and chewed at her bottom lip. "I am sorry..." He frowned looking at her incredulously. The strange creature saved his life and returned him a hand, and now she was apologising for being wounded in his battle!

He glanced her over, the slender body, proud set of head, strange clothes. He could not believe, his mountain still held secrets for him. And what an oddity! He was a Dwarf and a King, he made decisions quickly and knew what his honour told him to do.

"I am in your debt, Last Ravenhill Keeper. If it be your will, I'll order the passage to be closed again. That is the least I can do to thank you." She looked at him quickly, doubt and mistrust in her eyes, but he seemed to have passed her examination, and she exhaled through rounded lips, relief colouring her features.

"You will do that for me?" He gave her a small bow, and he suddenly felt a desire to pick up her hand and press her knuckles to his lips, but he then remembered the circumstances they met under, and a ridiculous snort burst out of him.

"Would I be able to wash my hands in your house, my lady?" Her mouth fell half open in astonishment, and then she suddenly blushed so much that even her little ears started burning. Apparently the memories returned to her as well. She picked up the basket from the ground and gestured towards the thick bushes to the side from them.

"It is behind there, and please, be my guest, my King."

* * *

><p>Sigin'adad = (Khuzdul) grandfather<p>

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Part 2 anybody? Then a prompt would be great ;)**


	9. What in the Sam Hill?

**Part 2 to the previous chapter...**

* * *

><p>Dwalin grumbled as he made his way to the King's study. It was empty again, the lunch tray on the table was untouched, and Dwalin gritted his teeth. He felt like a nursery maid for Thorin who apparently suddenly developed either senility, or indeed a curst cur was to be tied tighter than any. Growling and swearing under his breath that there was no fool like old fool, Dwalin stomped through passages to the cursed door to the raven tunnel.<p>

Since it had been uncovered three moons ago the King was absent more than present. Dwalin knew nothing about ruling a country, but nobody else seemed to be concerned by the fact that the King would be spending most of his days in it. He would come back in the evening, covered in its soft dust, and... smiling. The first time Dwalin saw that idiotic grin he assumed that either the King found treasure on the other end of it, or a rock hit the idiot to the back of his head. The guards had been placed at the entrance to the tunnel, but no one was allowed to enter it. Dwalin paid no heed to it, until he started noticing that the smile became more frequent. And wider. The King's face started looking more and more moronic with each day, and he was daydreaming! He once was hit to the head with the book Kili threw to him. Everyone expected a rage fit, but Thorin smiled! Again! And picked up the book from the floor! And gave it back! Everyone knew that he would not bend or get up unnecessarily these days, ashamed of his limp. This time he pressed the book in the hands of astonished Kili, absentmindedly patted his head like he used to when his sister-son was a child, and limped away. That was when Dwalin realized the changes he saw were not his imagination.

"What in Mahal's name was that?!" Kili pointed at his uncle, and Fili shrugged. Dwalin understood something was happening.

A moon after the discovery of the passage Thorin showed up at dinner in the state that made his sister drop the spoon in her soup, splashing the broth over her opulent chest. Fili, the reserved regal Fili swore loudly, staring, and Kili's jaw was slacked hanging in the area of his belt. The King's face was covered in deep scratches, seemingly from claws, and of some other origin that Dwalin was not familiar with. Thorin said nothing and sat to dinner as if nothing out of ordinary was happening. Balin was away from the Mountain that evening, and all the rest of them exchanged frantic looks hinting to each other that surely it was their job to ask. No one wanted to stick their head in the noose obviously. And suddenly Thorin started laughing. He had not laughed like that in years.

"You all should see your faces!" Thorin was pressing his hand to the chest, deep booming laughter rolling, eyes squinted, and he smacked his palm to the table. "Mahal help me, you look like I am dressed in an Eleven maiden's dress by mistake and you try to make each other tell me about it." He continued guffawing. He looked like he was thirty!

"What happened to you, Thorin?" Dis finally managed to choke out.

"Oh Dis..." The King was almost lying on the table by then, and Fili looked at Dwalin in concern. It indeed looked like Thorin had gone mad. It was some new delirium, not gold sickness of course, it somehow involved behaving like a drunk or a child. "Always the man in the family... The brave one... Hahahahaha!" He caught his breath and patted his sister's hand on the table. "A King comes home like after a fight with a cat, and you all are sitting with long faces... To answer to your question, namad, I was attacked by a raven. To be precise we had a misunderstanding, and it was entirely my fault." He chuckled couple more times, and shaking his head in amusement he went back to his soup.

"A raven?" Dis stared at him just like the rest of them. "An Erebor raven?" The King's cheerful 'uh-huh' only confirmed Dwalin's suspicions. Thorin had gone cuckoo.

* * *

><p>Dwalin's approached the cursed door, the guards were playing dice in front of it and jumped up on their feet when he approached. There was a wine skin between them, and Dwalin gave them a menacing look.<p>

"It was the King's gift," one of the guards mumbled, and Dwalin ground his teeth.

"How long?" He barked at the guards, and they shrank from him.

"He went in soon after we took our shift." That would be around breakfast time, what in the name of Mahal... Dwalin exhaled exasperated and leaned his back to the wall, deciding to wait for the King. That wouldn't be the first time, previously Thorin would come out of the door to find Dwalin waiting for him and would just smile as if it had been agreed on. He'd pat his shoulder and limp back into the halls. His walk was more energetic and light these days, and Dwalin would just sigh and follow him.

An hour passed and the guard were exchanging glances silently asking each other if they could return to their game as Dwalin seemingly was not intending to leave any time soon and they had nothing better to do after all. And then some noise came from the tunnel, the guard jumped on the feet, and Dwalin straightened up. Soft shuffling of feet approached, and even before the person coming through the tunnel stepped out of the door, Dwalin knew it was no King Under the Mountain.

Dwaling felt he was the one going mad this time when a small girl of Men stepped out of the tunnel. She was dishevelled, dusty head to toe and bloodied. There were scratches and bruises all over her skinny body, the dress was torn, skirts in ribbons, Dwalin could see bony knees were bleeding, and she was pressing her hands to her chest. She fell out of the doors and in the arms of one of the astonished guards.

"The King... He is still there... The tunnel collapsed..."

Dwalin pushed the other guard out of his way and squeezed himself into the narrow entrance. Both Thorin and he were tall for the Khazad, and Dwalin was swearing dirtily. He had to keep his head pressed into his shoulders and his shoulders slouched. After a while the tunnel became wider and taller, he probably had passed the hardest stone part of the mountain wall where the ancient builders had to chisel every tick of the tunnel for days, and Dwalin could finally square his shoulders. The lantern in his hand, which he grabbed out of the hands of the guard, stopped flickering in the draft and he realized he came to the end of the tunnel. A pile of rocks and parts of the wall, judging by the broken pieces of wall engravings on them, was in font of him.

"Thorin!" He roared rushing to the barrier.

"I am here," the King's voice coming from the other side of the stones was strong and irritated, and Dwalin breathed out in relief. "Did she make it through? Is she wounded?" Thorin's voice rang with distress, and Dwalin remembered that the was indeed a girl.

"She seemed fine." He dismissed Thorin's worry and started inspecting the rocks. Surely, the King was a more important matter. "Are you stranded on the other side? Can you move?"

"Curse it, Dwalin! What is with Wren?" Dwalin growled. It was like talking to a stubborn child.

"If you mean the girl, she is just scratched." Dwalin had no idea, he didn't even look at her once.

"We were inspecting the wall engravings when it collapsed. My leg is under the stones..." Dwalin froze, and suddenly Thorin laughed. "The other one, curse it... I think the bones are crushed..." Dwalin knew not what the King found worth merriment.

"You need to move the big ones from the bottom first," a quiet voice behind Dwalin made him jump up and painfully thump his head to the ceiling. He looked back and saw the girl. She looked no better but seemed less bedraggled.

"Is that you, bantith?" The King's voice was relieved, and Dwalin felt he would faint in the first time in his life. _Kitten?! _

"Aye, I am unscathed, just a few scratches." She spoke in a feigned light tone, and Dwalin dropped his eyes on her left arm she was cradling. It was blue, from elbow to the tiny wrist, and the fingers were twitching. It was obviously broken, and she was definitely in excruciating pain. Their eyes met, and she drew her brows together. Understanding ran between them, and Dwalin went back to the rocks.

"I worry they will roll if I pull," he yelled to Thorin, and then the girl touched his elbow. He looked back at her, and she pointed on the biggest boulder by the wall.

"If you take this one out, they will all follow. He is by the other side of the passage, he will be fine."

"Thorin?" Dwalin asked for confirmation.

"Do as she says, she knows better." The King's voice was losing strength, and after the 'kitten' appellation nothing could surprise Dwalin anymore. He pulled the rock, the boulders ran, he only had an instant to grab the girl and step away from them. The passage opened, and they saw the King splayed on the floor, his left leg bloodied and twisted under unnatural angle. Blood was pooling under it, and the girl rushed to him.

"Thorin..." She leaned near him, her healthy hand fluttered on his body, mindful of possible other injuries, but he grabbed the back of her head and pressed her to him.

"I am alright, alright, bantith..." His voice was tender, and she sobbed.

"It was like the Battle all over again. I could smell your blood..." He wrapped another arm around her, and she hid her face in his shoulder.

"And it's still running," Dwalin reminded grumpily, uncomfortable from all this mawkishness. The girl straightened up and looked at the King's leg.

"Is anything else hurt?" Her tone was suddenly strict and professional, and Dwalin looked at her attentively. She was probably more of a woman, than a child as he initially thought. Perhaps even in her third decade, although he lacked perceptiveness and to be honest any desire to know when it came to Men and their daughters.

"Just the leg." Dwalin knew Thorin's lying voice when he heard it. Apparently the girl did as well.

"Poppycock, Thorin." She sounded peeved, and Dwalin's eyes boggled. "I need to know, and I have strength only to ask one more time. So, what hurts?" One would expect the King to puff his chest and roar and rage, instead he brushed his fingers to her dirty cheek and smiled softly.

"A couple ribs, probably, and that is all, haban. Do not be angry." Dwalin wondered if he had been hit by a falling rock as well and just forgot about it. Surely, he was in delirium.

"I could manage the leg, probably..." She sounded pensive, and Thorin interrupted her.

"Bantith..."

"Do not argue with me. But I need space." She turned to Dwalin and met his eyes. Hers were odd, indeed slanted like a cat's and of strange colour, like a fire opal. "You need to drag him out in the open, preferably to your side." Her tone was commanding, and Dwalin looked at the King, whose eyes were at the girl.

"Wren, you are injured yourself, we need to take care of your arm..."

"I will be waiting for you outside," she was addressing Dwalin, and the tattooed warrior jerked from the commanding tone. And to his own shock he moved to Thorin and picked him up under his arms. The girl started slowly walking back to Erebor, holding on to the wall with her healthy hand, and Dwalin followed the order she gave him. For the first time disobeying his King. For the first time listening to a woman of Men. For the first time disregarding Thorin's protests and grumbles.

* * *

><p>There was a crowd outside, the guards brought Dis and the nephews, there were healers and courtiers, Dwalin put the King on the floor, and several people rushed to them. She grabbed Dwalins's sleeve and jerked, her hand surprisingly strong for such unassuming thing.<p>

"I need room and several minutes of silence..."

"Bantith..." Thorin was still trying to argue, but she shushed him. Dwalin decided that the only thing he could do was to laugh at Thorin's flabbergasted face. Dwalin could hardly imagine what it felt to be shushed for the first time in one's life. Dwalin looked at the girl and then turned around and barked to everyone to keep their distance. Dis looked at Thorin, and Dwalin saw him nod.

The girls put her hands on his leg, he jerked, and suddenly her eyes rolled back, white replacing the odd coloured irises, she dropped her head back and her lips moved, inaudible feverish words falling from them. Thorin quaked, gritting his teeth, pale from pain raging through his limb, and her mouth moved faster, more words pouring out of it, and Thorin groaned and then outward growled. Dis and Fili stepped forward, no doubt to interfere, but Kili suddenly grabbed his brother's shoulder.

"Watch!" He pointed at Thorin's leg, and Dwalin looked as well. It was now straight, the knee under the right angle, and she pressed the palms harder, in the last effort, Thorin cried out raspily and sagged. She moaned and started falling over as well.

* * *

><p>Dwalin heard that she woke up the next day, Thorin had been sleeping in a chair in the room they put her in. By then all Erebor was discussing the magical recovery of the King and the raven witch. The elders were recalling the old legends, of the Raven Keepers, with healing magic, a family of redhaired Men living hidden at the Hill, and Dwalin was asked to repeat his story again and again. He mostly answered with a growl and baring of his teeth, but he had to retell it at least five times, to Dis and the princes, then to Balin who had returned to Erebor a day later, and then to Bofur and Bombur who would not leave him alone. Thankfully Bofur had no issues with being in the centre of everyone's attention and colourfully described the scene he was no witness to to anyone who listened. There were many desiring, and soon the story became such a flourished exaggerated anecdote that Dwalin suspected the girl would know no peace now. There were fireworks and lighting mentioned in the latest version of the account, and the King was described to jump on his feet after the miraculous healing, while Dwalin knew for certain that the King would stay bedridden for another two weeks at least, the bones had indeed started mending but a lot of time was still required for him to start walking properly again, especially considering the limp right leg that had not approved in any way.<p>

Two weeks later Dwalin was walking through a courtyard in the Upper Halls, the mid-Summer sun and breeze making the balcony there the best place for the healing King to repose. Dwalin turned around a corner and found the King sitting on a low settee brought to him from the inside.

The redhaired girl was kneeling in front of him, while he was braiding her mad curls in a plaid on the side of her face. Her right arm was still in a cast. The King was not looking at what he was doing, since his lips were travelling along her jaw line. She did not seem to mind, her head was dropped back and slightly titled to give him more access to her throat. Most of her hair was already in an intricate do, Dwalin recognized the braiding, "abnahu yasthul," the plaids of the future wife.

"Are you making me beautiful, my King?" The girl's voice was teasing, and Thorin's fingers moved deftly, in familiar movements.

"You are already beautiful..." The King shamelessly murmured lies into the pale skin, "Mabannamuna... Zardur..."

"I do not know what it means but suspect it is some appalling flattery..." She snaked her fingers in his hair, and he grabbed her around her waist and dropped back on the settee pulling her to stretch on his body, and she giggled.

"Well, at least there are no Ravens here to attack you and try to scratch your eyes out for your indecent behaviour." He chuckled into her shoulder he was now kissing, pulling at the collar of the light linen dress.

"They approve of me now, I am after all the King Under the Mountain, and that time was just a misunderstanding, and only because you squeaked so loudly..." The King gave her a mischievous look.

"I had never been kissed before it, how was I to react?" She asked and then leaned in and kissed him herself.

Dwalin decided he did not want to watch any further, especially considering that Thorin's hands were already sliding up the redhead's hips, approaching the buttocks. Dwalin quickly gave it a thought and decided that an odd Queen is better than no Queen, and marched back in the kitchens, suddenly hungry. Thorin was happy, and Dwalin considered the question closed.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Skywolf42 and dearreader, how did I do with your wonderful prompts? ;)**

**UKReader, as for you, my darling, yours is so cute it will have its own story :D**


	10. Off the Beaten Path

_That time when Thorin embarasses himself for the second time, and Wren cannot find anything she needs._

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** **UKReader****, my darling, I love you! And the prompt is ace too ;)**

* * *

><p><em>Two years before the Quest for Erebor...<em>

Kili is moaning loudly, and Fili's face is pale.

"It is nothing..." Thorin's younger nephew is clenching his teeth, and Thorin looks at Oin. The older Dwarf shakes his head, Kili's ankle is twisted, and he is obviously in no shape for walking. Fili gives them a lost look. Together with Kili he is to escort fur merchants from Men to travel from Edoras in Rohan to Ered Luin. The chief merchant has asked for Thorin's best warriors, and now Kili has injured himself during swording practice.

"It is my fault, Uncle," Fili's voice is devastated, "I came at him too hard..."

"I should have been more careful, the mud was slippery..." Kili interrupts.

Thorin barks, "Enough! It matters not, someone now has to go instead of you, Kili..." The boy drops his head in shame, and Thorin sighs. "I will go, there is no one else to send. It is the Spring ice opening time, everyone is engaged already." The Dwarves in the room exchange glances, and Thorin clenches his jaw. "Let us just keep my name covert, the last thing we need is the Men to say that the Khazad King-in-the-Exile is at their service."

Dwalin grumbles in the corner, and Fili nods mournfully. Thorin gets up and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him in irritation.

* * *

><p>The procession of merchants is already leaving Edoras when a round, red cheeked Rohirrim catches up with them, and runs up to Thorin's pony, grabbing the reins. Thorin glares at him enraged, but the man is panting and gestures them to halt. Thorin is already in the gloomiest of moods, the hood pulled low on his face, and he ponders kicking the man away from him, but the man suddenly pulls a large silver pouch from under his doublet.<p>

"Master Dwarf, I have heard you are travelling North, please… I am friends with one of the merchants..." Thorin throws a glance back, and the aforementioned merchant nods. "The swords for hire I had arranged didn't shown up, and I am in need of service. I am sending my ward to Bree, I am marrying her to my cousin… Please, it is just one person, and she will cause no trouble. She is capable, you won't even notice she is travelling with you."

"I will vouch for him, Master Dwarf," the merchant from before confirms, "And I have met Wren, she is indeed a capable girl. Good in the saddle, and a healer's apprentice, might be useful. She will indeed be more help than woe. You will see no trouble with her."

* * *

><p>"Are you out of your mind, Master Dwarf?!" The cursed redhead is yelling at him, and he surely has had enough of her in the last three days. "We cannot stop in these caves! They are obviously crawling with Orcs! Am I the only one who can see the clues?" She is standing in front of him, fists pressed in her unimpressive hips, odd slanted eyes burning.<p>

She is ickle for a Rohirrim, his height, sickly looking, at least to his taste. And he is that close to strangling her! Since the instant when he accepted the cursed silver pouch from her guardian and she joined their company, on her cursed pony, in her cursed fur adorned cloak with her cursed saddle bags, he has seen no peace. She questions every decision he makes, she once threw out the stew they made, because apparently the water they used was polluted, she is insolent and chatty, and he considers clobbering her to the head and continuing the trip with her conveniently thrown over the saddle of her cursed pony.

The Orcs attack later that night, she at least doesn't try to fight and hides in the corner. But she manages to give him the 'I told you so look' while he is chopping off a head of yet another Orc, and he is that close to choking her!

* * *

><p>Fili's pony stumbles on the slippery rocks and breaks a leg. They put the poor animal down, and the redhead is silently crying in her saddle. He doesn't understand, it was just a pony! She is hiding her red puffy eyes under the hood, and mumbles that she "didn't expect anything different from the likes of him." He grits his teeth and only hardly manages to stop himself from yelling at her that that is not the way to speak to a King. He is Boin, son of Brori for this trip. And what did he expect from a daughter of Men? They treat his people as second sort anyway. She is wiping her tears with her sleeve, and he is that close to choking her!<p>

* * *

><p>An arrow pierces the shoulder of the merchant closest to him, Fili is yelling commands, they pull out their swords. The bandits are few, Thorin places the last blow on their leader's head. Everyone is breathing in pants, and the girl is kneeling in front of the injured merchant.<p>

In her saddle bags there aren't dresses as he assumed initially but balms and bandages, and she is pulling at the arrow in the screaming merchant's shoulder.

"Hold him!" She is ordering Thorin around again. They press the merchant's torso to the ground, and he watches her small strong hands covered in blood deftly attend to the wound. She is calm and collected.

"Bad luck, it is bad luck! That's the second attack since we started!... Maiar help us, we are cursed!" Another merchant is whimpering to the side, and her slanted eyes for a second meet Thorin's. Understanding runs between them, she is as annoyed with the whining as he is, and he gives her a small smile. She fought bravely, he saw from the corner of his eye. She has no skills, but she shielded the wounded merchant with one of the crates, and she is not bad with throwing knives. She also didn't scream, lament or cry. And she wasn't in the way.

"This travel is cursed!.." The coward of the merchant continues his bellyache, and Thorin is that close to choking him!

* * *

><p>They now have to take longer stops, the injured merchant is running a fever, but the girl says he is going to be fine. They have their camp by the river, and Fili is teaching the girl stone skipping. Her back is pressed to Fili's chest, his hand is on her wrist, another one on her waist, and she is laughing merrily. Her stone plops in water loudly, splashing them, and Fili is laughing too.<p>

Later Thorin brings dinner to Fili who is on look out, and they sit together watching the star lit sky.

"They have too many women if they can treat them that way," Fili suddenly draws out, lost in his thoughts. Thorin is smoking silently but gives Fili a questioning look. "They don't even ask them, just herd them like cattle. Wren told me she had never even seen her future husband since she was five, and he is twice her age apparently..." Thorin wonders if Fili is interested in the girl, and discards the thought as ridiculous. What is there to be interested in? "We treat our women with respect. And we are given so few... And so often our hearts are not in concord..." Thorin understands Fili is thinking about that curly haired maiden he has met in Iron Hills, and Thorin pats the nephew's shoulder.

"Men are Men, none of our concern, irakdashat." Fili nods, and they continue smoking in friendly silence.

* * *

><p>The girl slips in the mud, they are pulling the ponies through flooded road, merchants are complaining, and Thorin sheds his coat to help with the stroppy animals. The redhead's legs sink down to her knees, and he grabs her collar. She is clawing at his upper arms, trying to stay upright, and they both topple into the mire. Disgusting cold goo rushes under his collar and into his boots, and he is sneering through teeth. He suppresses dirty swearings, for her sake, and suddenly she starts laughing loudly.<p>

"I can still hear your curses, although they are just in your head, Master Dwarf." Her face is close, and he sees the freckled nose and strange eyes. He didn't pay much attention to her looks before, except he perhaps noticed she was skinny like a twig. The eyes are odd, the colour is unusual, like fire opal. And she gets up and stretches her hand to him. He grabs it, she is surprisingly strong, and she pats his shoulder. Silver laughter is still rolling, her wide mouth is stretched in a smile, and he notices for the first time how much ursul, _fire_, there is in her.

* * *

><p>It is the middle of the night, Fili is on the lookout, and Thorin wakes up seemingly for no reason. The girl is carefully leaving the camp, a sack behind her back. She is stepping over the legs of the sleeping merchants, and Thorin lets her creep out of the circle of light from fire before he gets up. He doesn't know why he is preserving her dignity.<p>

"Where do you think you are going?" He catches up with her in a few minutes. She twirls on her heels and stares at him. He expected her to be startled, she looks grumpy.

"I apologize for not saying goodbye properly," her tone is sarcastic, she knows that's not what it is about. "I wish you all the luck in the world, and may Mahal, your Maker protect you with his hammer." She gives him a low bow, and he is flabbergasted. It is indeed what the formal goodbye would be. She is just a girl from Men.

"You are not going alone there, you are under my charge." His tone is peevish, and she jerks the chin up.

"I liberate you of this responsibility, Master Boin."

"I was paid to escort you to Bree." It is not what he wants to say, he is worried about her. She gives him a disdainful glare and starts rummaging in her sack. He wants to stop her, she is going to insult him. And just as he expected she stretches a hand with coin pouch to him.

"You can return the money to my guardian when the chance comes. And this is for you," the tone of her first days is back, and he realizes that she wasn't using it recently. To think of it, her voice was always warm when she would speak to him.

"This is not how the honour of Dwarves works, my lady," he doesn't know why he is snarling through his teeth. He knows she has different ways, she is of Men.

"I know," she lowers the hand with the pouch, "I was just insulting you insinuating that your agreement can be bought." She stuffs the pouch back, and he can't tear his eyes off her face. She lifts her eyes, and he sees her lips are pressed in a distressed line. "I know it's dangerous out there, and I know you are worried about me, you are too noble to not be, but I can't go to Bree. I am not a cow to be bought and herded, and to be expected to make offsprings and give milk." She spits the words out, and then her shoulders sag and the sack slips on the ground. "Maybe Orcs are a better destiny..."

He steps closer and picks up the sack from the ground. "Don't be dramatic. Get back to sleep." She nods and plods back to the camp. On the way they meet Fili that came to investigate the noise, and Thorin shakes his head stopping the nephew from asking. She shuffles back, without raising her eyes.

* * *

><p>The day is surprisingly sunny, and she finds some small flowers by the road. She quickly grabs a bunch and catches up with them before he barks at her. He gives her a stern stare, and she smiles widely to him, both apologizing for her behaviour and as if telling him 'oh, stop being such a grouch.' He can hear her voice in his head.<p>

She makes a flower crown and puts on the head of the most disagreeable of the merchants who chuckles as if against his will. Everybody laughs, the wounded merchant is indeed better these days, and even he smiles. Afterwards she feeds the crown to Thorin's pony patting the fury muzzle and cooing to the animal. Thorin is staring at the crown of her red head. That is the first time he has to remind himself she is to marry someone else.

* * *

><p>It was raining, and now they drying their clothes over the fire. She took off her boots and is stretching her tiny feet to the warmth. She is telling Fili about her years of healer's apprenticeship, she is endlessly sober and practical, and she is laughing while telling him of sewing an almost severed leg back to a man's hip. The merchants look nauseated, Fili asks for more details.<p>

Thorin is smiling and tries not to look at the slender ankles. There are small round bones on them, and he hasn't had a woman for moons.

* * *

><p>He starts having dreams, short and blurry, with her in them, no clothes involved. He wakes up and sees her cooking breakfast. She is leaning over the coffee pot, runaway orange curls are brushing her delicate jaw, and then she lifts her face, meets his eyes and smiles to him. He reminds himself she is to marry someone else. He seems to need to do it more often than not these days.<p>

* * *

><p>Two days before they reach Bree he is sitting on a fallen tree on a lookout, and she comes and sits near him. He notices she is wrapped in the blanket she had rolled and clasped to her saddle, but there is nothing but the undertunic and petticoat on her. Before he manages to say anything, she lunges ahead and presses her lips to his. He suspects it is one, if not the only one, of her first kisses. He is not moving, and she shies away.<p>

He still doesn't say anything and looks at her face trying to understand if she is actually offering what he thinks she is offering. It is dark, but his eyes have accustomed to it already, and he has studied her face well. He knows her cheeks are burning, and the turn up nose is probably twitching.

"So what is it going to be?" Her voice is trembling, and he cups the back of her head and pulls her to his mouth.

He reminds himself she is to marry someone else, and he has no right to take what she is offering. And then he thinks that if she were a Dwarf she would have had the right to give what she is offering to anybody she wished.

His body betrays his hunger, his treacherous arms wrap around her, she is slender, flexible and strong, she climbs on his lap, and his head is spinning. The arousal is suffocating, but there is tenderness and longing, and he growls and topples her on the ground. They are in safe woods, and he forgets everything. He drags the brigandine and then other layers of clothes off his body, he whispers in her wide open eyes, 'Don't be afraid,' and although her body is shaking she smiles to him and grabs his ears. She pulls him to her mouth, and her slender legs go around his bare waist.

* * *

><p>When the dawn comes she returns to the camp, and he is sitting for another hour smoking. For the next two days she is silent, she doesn't look at him, and there is no more smiles and laughter. Fili asks her if she is ill, and she shakes her head without saying anything. The next night Thorin hopes she will come again, but she doesn't.<p>

They arrive to Bree, the merchants and Fili go to the inn, and Thorin is to bring her to her future home. She embraces them one by one, and kisses Fili's cheek. He gives her another tight hug, and she makes him promise to stop by the next time he is in Bree.

They walk the streets, he is carrying her sack, she is leading the pony by the reins, the evening is warm, and she pulls off her cloak. He opens his mouth twice to say something but no words come. She is looking under her feet. He remembers how she arched into him and bit into his shoulder in her climax.

They have to wander for another hour, she cannot find the house. It is becoming torturous. She remembers being there when she was a child, but she is bad with directions. He is that close to choking her when she knocks at the door of a big two-storied house, a man opens it, and she smiles to him timidly. Both Thorin and she do not reach his shoulder. He is wide, has an honest simple face, and Thorin feels like a dagger has been buried under his ribs.

"Wren, thank Maiar! I was starting to worry."

"And here I am," she speaks softly and steps into the house. Thorin expected a goodbye, she has impeccable manners, but then he thinks it is for the best. And again, she is just a girl, even she has limits to her reserve.

The man gives him a small respectful bow.

"Boin, son of Brori, at your service," Thorin mumbles, he is that close to running the man through with his sword.

"Todd, son of Tedric," the man looks at Thorin not understanding. Thorin thinks he probably shouldn't explain that he is baring his teeth because he is in love with the man's betrothed. Todd, son of Tedric makes all the wrong conclusions. He pulls out a pouch with coins from his belt. "I am grateful for your service, Master Dwarf, I hope it was not too much..."

Thorin doesn't stay to listen. He gets drunk in the inn, he has never in his life drunk that much, but that is the only way to escape his dreams.

* * *

><p>In the morning Fili is shaking Thorin's shoulder. Thorin's head is heavy, he has disgusting taste in his mouth. Yesterday he was yelling to Fili, there were just two of them left at the table, everyone else went to bed, and no one can drink as much as Dwarves.<p>

"He offered me more money! Like there wasn't enough embarrassment! He bought her, then he wanted to buy me!.." After the second barrel of ale he finally found the reason to hate her betrothed. That cursed pouch of silver!

Thorin sticks his head in a barrel of water in the inn yard and shakes his head like a pony. The spring is in the full bloom but mornings are still brisk. And then he thinks that perhaps that was her first marital night, and he smashes his fist into the wall. Fili is standing silently to the side holding Thorin's sword and brigandine. The merchants are ready to go, the ponies are saddled, and he comes up to his. The animal pushes its head in his shoulder, and he remembers how the girl fed it the flower crown and laughed.

He grabs the sword from Fili's hands and rushes down the street.

* * *

><p>He is banging his fist into the door of the cursed house, and decides he will just grab her and drag her out. He will talk to her in some quiet corner, he will listen to her sarcastic remarks, he will take care of her, he will take her anywhere she wants, but he is not leaving her in that house. And then the treacherous thought comes that she might not even want to leave, perhaps she is sleeping in the arms of her new husband now. Thorin is anything but mawkish and lacks imagination but he suddenly can clearly see her in something thin and white, curls scattered on the pillow, and it once again feels like a dagger between his ribs.<p>

The door opens and Todd, son of Tedric is looking at him in confusion. Thorin remembers that he has a bared sword in his hand, the scabbard stayed in Fili's hands, and that water is still running down his hair to his shoulders. Asking the next question is even more humiliating that the previous day's pouch with silver.

"Where is she? I need to speak to her." The man is still staring at him flabbergasted. "I need to speak to Wren." He probably should ask, but he just barks, "Call her, stop staring at me!"

"She left." The man still hasn't recovered from seeing the spectacle in front of him. "Last night… Said she was going to the infirmary, wanted to find a job." Thorin doesn't let himself hope it means what it seems to mean. "And then she wanted to go to an inn."

* * *

><p>Thorin finds her having breakfast in the same inn he spent the night in.<p>

"Why didn't you find me?" That is not how he should be starting a conversation with her. There is still a chance she is just staying in the inn for propriety purposes and not because she doesn't want to marry that man. She is frozen with a piece of seedcake in her hand, and a cup of tea in the other one.

"I did not know where you were." The answer is simple, and he should be talking and convincing, but he grabs her under her arms, she squeaks, and he pulls her to his lips. The cup is rolling on the floor, and they are kissing desperately in the common room.

"You are not marrying him..." He doesn't know whether he is asking, or commanding.

"I am not..." He doesn't know whether she wasn't intending to or she is changing her mind now, but he doesn't care.

"I am taking you with me to Ered Luin," he is not offering, he is informing. She slightly moves away and studies his face.

"I have responsibilities here."

"You are not marrying him. You are going to Ered Luin with me," he kisses her again, then her small burning ear and the jawline.

"I wasn't going to marry him, I got a position in the infirmary. I am starting on Monday."

"You are going to Ered Luin with me," he is kissing her neck now. "You are mine now." She laughs and grabs his ears again. He is starting to think she likes them.

"And you are mine, Boin." She kisses him herself, and he remembers one last thing.

"My name is Thorin, son of Thrain."

"I don't care. I am going to Ered Luin with you." Her eyes are laughing, and he guffaws. He is that close to choking the insolent woman!


	11. Where Your Path Leads

**A/N: ****_DON'T MISS THE PREVIOUS CHAPTER!_ **

**It is an actual update unlike this one :D I accidentally DELETED this story, so I'm posting it again. Sorry :)**

* * *

><p><em>That time when Thorin <em>_was smithering in the forge, while Wren stopped to ask for directions._

* * *

><p><strong>AN: Thank you, UKReader, it is marvelous, and yes to Thorin's chest in a forge! :)**

**A/N#2: This one is pure graphic smut. Be aware when proceeding!**

**As for the ending… I couldn't help it. Call me repetitive, predictable and limited, I deserve it all :S *wallowing in self-doubt***

* * *

><p>Thorin was tired, the day was hot, clients discontent, and he lowered his hammer on the anvil and realised he missed the spot by half an inch. He growled through his teeth and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his forearm. He was still fuming after the altercation he had with a dissatisfied merchant half an hour ago, still coming up with rude comebacks in his head for the puffed up, ignorant man, when the door to the forge squeaked. He didn't turn and barked, "What now?"<p>

"I apologise for the intrusion, kind sir," the voice was young and quiet, and he gritted his teeth, "I was wondering if you could help me." He sharply turned around and saw a small skinny figure lit from behind. _One of those orphans,_ he thought grumpily, lots of vagabonds would pass through the village, and they all somehow assumed his forge was a place to ask for food and shelter.

"No charity, get out!" He smashed the hammer down again. This time his aim was even worse, and he swore dirtily under his breath.

"I do not require any alms, I simply need directions." He immediately realised the visitor was no child but a young woman, the tone was confident and sarcastic.

"I am no milestone, ask someone else," he threw over his shoulder.

"Your statement makes no sense," the person by the door chuckled, "Another person wouldn't be a milestone either, and were I to ask a milestone, it wouldn't answer." He turned sharply and had a better look.

No wonder he mistook her for a child, she was even shorter than him, very thin, a halo of small curls around her head, escaping a simple braid around her head. His eyes got accustomed to the light, and he recognised the healer's robe and sack. He still couldn't see her face well. He was torn between yelling and hurling his hammer in her direction, and a strange curiosity. She had an odd manner of speaking, words were pronounced very clearly and seemed thought through, as if she was speaking a foreign language. While he was glaring at her, she calmly remained at his doorstep, as if allowing him to arrive at a certain decision regarding her.

There was strange serene air around her, and he grumbled, "Where are you heading, honourable healer?"

She stepped inside, and he finally could see angular features, turn up nose, wild orange freckles. Hair was also orange, like coppered gold. She had a wide, bright red mouth, the corners were curled up, and she was studying him. He noticed that her eyes slid from his face to his bare chest and lower. He wasn't used to such open evaluation, as if he was kettle. He was also not used to the approval he saw in her eyes. Women of Men rarely found his race attractive, although he himself had a few lovers among Men of both sexes. But again he was slightly taller and less hairy than most of his kin.

"Ithilien, kind sir. I have left the main road to replenish my supplies, and now I seem to have been lost my way in all these small villages. They all look alike." She put her healer's sack on the floor and rubbed her shoulder. He noticed the hands, small, but strong looking. "Although I would have remembered a village with a Khazad working in a forge had I passed it before." The appellation in his native language made him jerk and stare at her face. Her pronunciation was impeccable.

"Thorin, son of Thrain," he gave her a small bow, keeping his eyes on her face. She seemed unaffected, perhaps not recognizing the name.

"Wren from Enedwaith," she nodded. He put down his tools, wiped his hands, and stepped to the door to point at the right direction. The sunlight rushed into his eyes, and he shielded them with his hand. And then he caught her eyes on his bare chest again. He saw her throat move, and she licked her red lips.

He waited, and a second later her eyes met his. Hers were strange, slanted and of odd, indistinct colour, feverish and hungry at the moment, and he stepped ahead and pressed his hand into her shoulder. She swayed back, and her back hit the doorframe.

"Honourable healer, is there something you want?" His voice was low and raspy, and he momentarily felt surprised why in Durin's name he felt so affected by the attraction from a simple unassuming girl from Men. She stared at his face, her pupils giant, dilated, and he saw her frantically considering her options. She blinked, and her face grew calm.

"Yes," she answered simply and to his shock smiled to him softly. He suddenly doubted he was understanding her right, and he opened his mouth to ask, when her hand lay on his forearm, she stepped backwards into his forge and pulled him in after her.

He made a clumsy step ahead and then quickly closed the door behind him.

* * *

><p>"I have a room upstairs." She nodded and suddenly turned away from him. She scooted and started rummaging through her sack. He understood she was looking for herbs for protection. He waited, quickly looking her over. He hadn't had a woman for a while, he was planning to stay in the village for a while, and locals wouldn't have taken kindly to Dwarven sexual ways. He had started feeling the effects of the abstinence on his mood recently, his erections in the morning becoming more and more frustrating, and his dreams more and more obscene. He doubted he'd receive much relief after the encounter with this woman, she could hardly withstand much, and didn't seem very experienced. He doubted her stamina, she was slender boardering to sickly.<p>

She straightened up and handed him a bottle while holding one for herself in the other hand. Hers was for protection against the possibility of a child, he was familiar with the greenish brown tinge of the tonic, but he looked at the one intended for him and lifted his brows. "This one will cleanse your blood," she suddenly blushed headily, "You are a Dwarf, you are known for your promiscuity." There was no judgment in her tone, but he felt a prickle of irritation.

"Then you know what to expect," he grabbed the vial, opened it and toppled it into his throat. She drank hers, put the empty vials away and looked at him expectantly.

He turned around and marched up the stairs without looking back. She followed, he assumed, but her steps were so quiet that he was fighting an urge to turn and check.

In the bedroom, dim light seeping through the small window, he closed the door behind her and looked her over again. She was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes quickly running around the scarce furniture and his belongings. He threw a look at her bottom and found it rather enticing. He also felt almost certain that she had never done it before. To test her and just because he really wanted to, he stepped behind her, wrapped one arms around her shoulders and cupped her right buttock with his palm. She jolted, and he expected her to jump away. But suddenly she relaxed into his body, her back leaned into his chest, and she chuckled.

"Have I passed your trial, master Dwarf?" His nose filled with the smell of lilacs, her soap and dust from the road. He gave the buttock a squeeze and found it exciting.

"Rather so," he chuckled as well, and she threw his an askew look over her shoulder.

"I have to confess, I might be a huge disappointment for you." He hummed and leaned in. Something was keeping him from making the first step. "You might have to do all the hard work." Her tone was suggestive, and she pushed her pert bum back. He assumed that qualified as a signal and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her neck. She immediately tilted her head to give him more access.

He let his hands roam her body, through the rough fabric of her robe. She was taut, all bones and lean muscles, breasts small, no hips. She arched in him and threw her arms up and back, wrapping them around his neck. Even if she didn't know what she was doing, her willingness was compensating for it.

He hadn't lain with a woman for too long, and his erection was fast and painfully turgid. He wrapped one arm around her middle and pressed her into him, quickly losing control, his teeth ground loudly.

"You can..." She breathed out, "Just do it… There will be more times, just do it..." It took him a few seconds to realise what she was saying. She would run after, he thought, but he was no fool no waste this chance, she offered herself. He bent, grabbed the hem of her robe and jerked up, keeping her pressed into him with another arm tight around her stomach. He found the waist of her bloomers and pushed them down. She was breathing in raspy shallow breaths but didn't object. He pushed his trousers down, aligned his length with her entrance, already surprisingly wet, and grabbing her hip with another hand, he thrust in.

She cried out and dropped her head ahead. He knew he was larger than an average man, and he should have gone slower, but there was some strange buzzing in his head, and he knew he only had one chance. She was sagging in his arms, and he started moving, in deep harsh thrusts, his hand slid up, across her chest, his pelvis pummeling into her in sharp moves. She seemingly returned to reality and sobbed loudly. He continued driving into her, his teeth clenched, low growls escaping his throat, when he realised she was moaning, and not in pain but in pleasure, arching and pushing her hips back into him. He sped up, her screams became louder, greedier, and he climaxed, in a hot suffocating wave, his body quaking violently, everything went white hot in front of his eyes, and he pressed her into him more, not realising that his hand was clenching around her throat.

His hands fell flap down, releasing her, and she dropped on her knees in front of him, whining and shaking her head, wild copper curls having escaped the do. He swayed, and his ankles got tangled in his breeches, he clumsily flailed his arms but didn't manage to keep his balance. He landed on his butt painfully and groaned. She was standing on all four making small strange noises, and he astoundedly realised she was giggling.

"Maiar help me," her voice was coarse, "Is it always like that for you?" She turned her head to him, and he saw blissful smile on her lips. He was staring at her dumbfounded. "That was rather intense… And you honestly should get up, male reproductive organs do not appreciate sitting on the cold floor naked." She got up, wobbly on her feet, and leaning on his desk, she started untying the lacing in the front of her robe.

"What are you doing?" His voice was uncharacteristically shaky.

"I'm undressing, master Dwarf," her tone was yet again sarcastic, and he noticed the sparks of laughter in her eyes. "There will be more of that," she vaguely gestured all over him, "Right? Knowing the stamina of your race."

He awkwardly got up and pulled up his trousers. "How many lovers have you had before me, honorable healer?" He didn't know why he was asking, he honestly didn't need to know anything about her. That was just a single encounter, she'd be gone soon.

"One," she said quietly and pushed her robe down from her shoulders. She was so small that it simply slid on the floor. Underneath he saw the already familiar modest bloomers and a chemise, simple, no ruffles or lace, of pristine white cotton. He was staring, she snorted and gave him a look over. "To be honest I'm normally rather keen on excessive cleanness, but I have to say all this soot and grime on your chest is working wonders on my libido."

He lifted his eyes and couldn't quite believe the small teasing smile on her face. Thorin didn't appreciate being laughed at.

"Turn around," he rasped.

"Are we repeating the same thing? I was hoping for some diversity," she drew out in a mocking voice but turned. Her palms lay on the table, and he quickly shed all his clothes and stepped behind her. His hands covered her breasts, and he stroked the tips with his thumbs. Shiver ran down her body, and he heard her gasp quietly.

"What was your lover like?" He once again didn't know why he was asking. She was just a one time thing. "Was he diverse?"

"Not really. He was considerate," she was chuckling, "Tender, loving. Conscious of my pleasure. Why are you asking?" As if he knew.

"Did he abandon you?" One hand still stroking her breasts, he moved another one down and splayed it on her stomach, his lips hovering over her neck but not quite touching the pale, radiant skin.

"He died." Her tone was calm, and he placed an open mouthed kiss on her nape. She shuddered, and he felt slightly smug satisfaction. It was very pleasant to make her strange calm confidence waver. He ran his tongue along her neck and caught her lobe between his teeth. He could see her close her eyes, her head was slightly turned to him, and he pushed her drawers down again. His palm rubbed on the soft smooth skin of her thigh, and then he thrust in her without warning. She whimpered but didn't shift. He straightened up, letting her go, and then his hand on the back of her neck he pushed her down, on the table. He grabbed her bottom, his hands kneading her buttocks. She stretched her arms ahead, her fingers splayed in the wooden surface, and he stared at her narrow back. He pushed his hand under the chemise and stroke the silky skin between her shoulder blades.

"Then why?" He was taking slow breaths in, slightly dizzy from the feeling of her tight inner muscles clenched around his length. "Why are you here… with me?"

She looked at him once again over her shoulder, and he saw her eyes vulnerable and wide open.

"I don't know," she pronounced clearly and then turned away and placed her head cheek down on the table. "I just am."

He placed his feet wider on the floor, steadier, his hands lay on her thighs again, and he pushed her legs together, locking her around his girth. He then rolled his hips into and over her, sheathed into her his whole impressive length, in a slow gradual caress, and she moaned loudly. He set a deep, determined rhythm, listening to her gasps and soft cries, watching her fingers curl on the table, and soon he found that very movement that seemed to make her whine just a bit higher and her red lips open, and he rocked into her again and again, until she screamed in her rapture, her hands thrashing on the wood, nails scraping, and then she stilled, breathing loudly. He had never in his life felt so triumphant after satisfying a woman.

"Can I move?" He also had never asked permission before.

"The table is etched into my thighs," she spoke in a shaky voice, "Do you think you would be inclined to continue in a slightly different position?" She was still wordy, but he now realised nothing could probably hinder her eloquence.

He stepped back pulling out of her, and she whined in a high pitched voice. The view was very enjoyable, her perky bottom sticking up, propped for his taking, but he could imagine the purple bruises a firm edge of the table was giving her. He leaned in and picked her under her knees, she fell in his arms, and he quickly placed her on the bed. He was hurried, trying to seize this commonly considered romantic gesture, as well as to thwart the strange pleasure of holding her small body in his arms.

"Take off your garments," the command came out harsher and ruder than he planned, but he was trying to avoid any sort of mawkishness. She gave him a calm attentive look and quickly pulled off her undergarments. She was taut and fluid, and in the dim twilight her skin seemed to glow.

She lay on his bed on her back, and he clenched his teeth. He didn't want to remember this view and knew he would. He felt angry, it wasn't supposed to affect him this way. He stepped to her, but she suddenly sat up and pressed her palm into his sternum.

"Don't get angry," her tone was soft, "I will not come back, I don't need anything from you beyond today." Her eyes were gentle and understanding, and he felt worse. "I can turn away if you don't want to see my face." He was indeed apprehensive of her eyes, they were perceptive, bright, seeing too much, and he felt distressed. He shook his head chasing away ridiculous sentimentality. He reminded himself, he couldn't care less about women's eyes.

"Lie on your back," he softened his tone, and she complies. He took her slender ankles in his hands and pulled her to the edge of the low bed. He knelt in front of it, and she readily spread her legs. He took his time this time, enjoying the clenching of her quim and bringing them both to the completion at the same time. He fell on her body when his rapture took him, and without thinking he peppered her chest and neck with small kisses. She was still making the small mewling noises he was already familiar with, her hands roaming his shoulders, and they quieted, breathing deeply.

He was fighting drowsiness and knew he was losing. Every muscle in his body was demanding the repose, he could almost imagine crawling in the bed, under the covers, but he was resistant, because somewhere deep inside he knew he didn't want to lie there alone.

"Do you want me to leave now?" Her tone was lazy, and he lifted his head. She was staring at the ceiling, one of her hands running through her orange curls, scattered on his sheets, and another one was on the side of her body, right in front of his nose. The hand was small, long strong fingers with short nails, and a delicate wrist with round little bones. He ground his teeth, he lost the war.

"No," he grumbled, "I might not be done." She snorted and lifting her head slightly looked at him.

"Should I sit in the cool cellar for a bit, like an unfinished dinner?" He met her smiling eyes and didn't manage to suppress his own grin.

"Get on the pillow," his own tone was way too affectionate. She moved, sliding off his length, and deftly crawled under covers. She hid there, only her eyes and a mop of copper curls sticking out.

"As soon as you are off me, I'm freezing. Is there a furnace inside you?"

He honestly didn't want to get all… cuddly with her under the covers, but he told himself he was cold too, although he never was. She didn't move into him, but he grabbed her by the back of her neck and pulled her towards him. She curled into him, her narrow hand lay on his chest, and she nuzzled him. He realised he didn't even object to this and frowned.

"Do not get comfortable," he grumbled, but then felt he had gone too far and added turning his previous phrase into a joke, "Two times are not enough for a Dwarf."

He realised she was asleep because she jerked when he spoke, and then she slightly rose on her elbow and yawned. He was staring at her pale throat. He wanted to kiss it, just for the sake of it, to taste her skin, and rub his nose to it. She met his eyes and smiled.

"Why don't you just try to enjoy it without questioning your every action?" She suddenly lifted her hand and ran the tip of her index finger along the bridge of his nose. "I already told you, you will never see me again." She swiftly moved and straddled him, keeping the blankets wrapped around her like a cloak. She looked adorable. "How about this?" She leaned in, and one slender arm snaked from under the blanket. The hand stroked his beard, fingers curled into the black whiskers, and she licked her lips. "I promise I will not stop here on my way back in a month, and you will stop being prickly." He cocked one brow at her, and she giggled.

"Prickly?"

"Uh-huh, all cold and grumpy," she shook the blanket off her shoudlers and leaned in again. Her hands lay on his pectoral muscles, she kned them, her fingers just as strong as he expected, she treaded them through his chest hair, running them lightly over his skin afterwards, dipping them in the hair on the sternum where it was the thickest, "Never like hairy men..." She mumbled thoughtfully, and he guffawed. She laughed too, and kissed him on the lips. It was deep, passionate, fair and square, and he let her. More so, he cupped the back of her head and made it worthwhile for her. Soon she was moaning and panting in his arms, while he was thrusting his hips up on the bed, supporting her bum suspended in the air. She tossed her head back, her hands kneading her breasts, and he growled. He released into her again but not before he brought her over the brink once before his seed hit her inner walls and made her climax again. She fell down on him, limp and warm, making a small noise, very remisniscent of purring, and he pulled blankets over her.

She mumbled something that sounded like "don't let me sleep," but he stroked her hair and heard her sniff softly, her legs and arms hanging on the sides of his body completely relaxed.

* * *

><p>He woke up in the middle of the night and brushed the sheets near him. The bed was empty, and he felt cheated. She could have said goodbye. Her clothes were gone from the floor, and he rolled on his side and told himslef he didn't care. He did. And then he heard some rustling in the kitchen, and he didn't know himself why he rushed there so quickly. She was sitting at the table, chewing a piece of bread she took out of a small parcel from her sack, a book open in front of her on the table. He shielded his eyes from the light of the candle she was burning. It was also her own.<p>

"I'm sorry," she sounded remorseful, "Did I wake you up? I couldn't sleep, and I decided to leave, but then I thought I didn't know what was apporpriate to do in these situations, and you were sleeping, and I assumed you were tired, and I had never had such nights..." She was blabbering nervously. He strode through the kitchen, picked her up under her arms and pulled her into a deep greedy kiss. She reciprocated, her arms around his neck, and then she jumped up wrapping her legs around his waist. He rumbled and started greedily kissing her jaw and neck.

"What? Again?" She asked laughing, and he threw her over his shoulder and carried her back to the bedroom.

He took her on her back, watching her face lit up with passion and pleasure, her mesmerizing eyes sparkling in the moonlight, her red lips half open, and he covered her face with kisses, thrusting into her almost tenderly again and again. She whined in her climax, and he followed quickly after.

In the morning he woke up after her again and found her in the kitchen just as before. This time she was sitting without a book in front of her, her eyes fixed on an empty spot on a wall. He came in and leaned on the door frame.

"I won't stop on the way back." Her voice was hollow.

"I would like you to," he gave in. He couldn't fight it anymore. She blinked and looked at him. Her eyes were sad.

"I know. But I still won't. It is just not for me." She gave him a small joyless smile. "I am horrible at promiscuity. I'll get attached and will suffer. And as grumpy and cantankerous as you are, you will suffer too. You will feel sorry for me and angry with yourself. Am I right?" There was no point in arguing, and he nodded.

She quickly picked up her sack and left. He would remember her sometimes, sometimes there would be dreams, but she was after all one of many.

* * *

><p>A month after that night he found himself sitting in the common room of the inn by the road, watching every person who would come in, lying to himself he wasn't looking for a small figure with flaming locks. She didn't come, he spent three days in there, getting more and more drunk with each passing night. He dragged himself home the morning of the forth day and told himself that the story was thusly concluded.<p>

Two months later he was talking to a client in his forge when the door squeaked, and she came in. She was thinner than he remembered, she was nervous, biting her bottom lip, and fidgeting with the strap of her sack. She saw he was busy, mumbled something, and dashed out. He finished the conversation, allowing the client to pay less that it was at any rate appropriate and didn't even notice it. He pushed the man out and stopped in front of her. She was sitting on a bench near the forge, one foot tucked under her the same way she was sitting in his kitchen both times he found her there. She tried to smile but her lips were trembling too much.

"I got delayed in Ithilien, it took longer… I wasn't going to come but..." Her eyes were pleading, but he was frowning, studying her. She dropped her head and whispered, "Either send me away now, or let me stay… But I won't be able to leave in the morning."

He reminded himself he was a Dwarf and that he was a King, but it was final. He had chosen her. She lifted her eyes at him suddenly, burning and defiant, and he saw her jaw set stubbornly. "If you tell me to stay, I will never leave. And you will neither. And you will swear me by the honour of your people that I am your wife now. I am no Dwarf but you will give me all the respect and reverence your wife is to get. Choose now." She was shaking, he could see it, but he also saw a will of steel and honour and dauntlessness.

He stretched his hand to her and softly said, "Come,Wren." She met his eyes and smiled weakly. Her small hand lay in his, and he pulled her up and into his arms. He pressed his lips to her hair, feeling her let out a shuddering sigh, her hands clasping the tunic at his back, and he whispered, "Stay with me."


	12. Sweet as Honey

**A/N: This one isn't based on a prompt, it's just a silly little something, but ****a confession: I rewatched **_**Some Kind of Wonderful **_**today, so yeah… Je ne regrette rien! :P**

**A/N#2: ****My darlings****, another annoying reminder that ****CHAPTER 10 IS NEW****. The old batty me deleted a chapter (barechested Thorin in a forge and graphic smut one :D) by accident, I reposted it as Chapter 11, and they all moved. There is a chance you haven't read chapter 10 ;)**

**You can't leave a review to it if you already have before, but you can always leave it under chapter 11 *nudge nudge* and maybe for this chapter too *shy whisper* :)**

* * *

><p>"Get down, you lulkh," Dwalin is growling at Frerin, and Thorin shushes him. They are after all sneaking out of Lord Girion's house that they are visiting with Thorin's mother and father. Frerin is hanging on the tree, his tunic bunched up, his skinny stomach in front of Dwalin's face. Thorin grabs his brother by the legs and jerks him down. The younger Prince of Erebor lands on the Heir of Durin with a thump. Thorin calls him 'a clumsy Orc' and climbs from under his brother's limbs.<p>

"You are not getting out of the yard anyway, no point in all this work," a sarcastic voice is heard from up the fence. They lift their heads and see two girls sitting on it. One is cute as a button, curly chestnut hair, another one is skinny as a twig and a ginger. The redhead was the one who spoke, and she is eyeing them mockingly. The second one is laughing, she has bright pink lips and Thorin thinks they are about fifteen. Him and Dwalin are their age in Dwarven years, Frerin is younger.

"What do you mean there is no exit?" Dwalin grumbles, and the girl point at the closed gate.

"Lord Girion's children try to run away all the time, they keep the doors closed. And you are too short to climb the fence," the cuter girl is tall, Thorin, being tall for a Khuzd, would still be half a head shorter than her.

"We can get out if you help us, glorious ladies," Frerin steps ahead. He is good with girls, they love his dark brown and silky waves, and predictably the girls on the fence giggle.

"We could," the cute one says, but the other one smacks her shoulder.

"They are Princes of Erebor, we are not letting them out. What if they get killed in the streets and the diplomacy between the cities suffers?" The ginger uses bookish words, and Thorin thinks her annoying.

"We are not going to get killed in the streets!" He pronounces haughtily, "We have swords."

"And axes," the chestnut haired one speaks in sing-song voice and points at Dwalin's axe, and the latter pulls it out and shakes it in the air. He really wants to see the city. The cute one disappears behind the fence.

"Thea, no!" The redhead rushes after her, but the one called Thea has already appears on the fence again, a bit further. She climbs over it, bunching up the skirts of her simple dress, she has very beautiful legs, and then she jumps into the yard. There is now a rope hanging from the tree on the other side on this side of the fence, and the Dwarves sprint to her.

* * *

><p>They spend the day with the girls, and it turns out the redhead called Wren is not that annoying. Once she accepted the fact that they were now to spend time with them, she became lively and entertaining, and all and all Thorin is having a great time. They have to stay away from the crowded streets, three Dwarven younglings are too noticeable, but they still manage to have great fun.<p>

It is evening and all five of them are sitting on the roof of a tavern. The girls brought food and treats, Thorin insisted on paying for it. The one called Thea is finishing her slice of honeycake.

"So, you are all about our age in your years, right?" She asks licking the syrup of her fingers. Thorin is staring at her lips, and he knows Frerin and Dwalin are too.

"More or less, Frerin here is younger."

"In their years I could be their father!" Frerin snaps, and Dwalin snorts in his cup of apple cider.

"And when do Dwarves marry?" She asks eyeing Dwalin, who suddenly has feverish spots on his cheeks, and Thorin throws a look at the second girl. Her cheeks are burning too, but she returns his mischievous look. He smirks to her lopsidedly, he likes it that they understand each other.

"Whenever they want," Frerin answers, and Thea shifts her eyes at him.

"So do you have a nice Dwarven girl waiting for you, Prince Frerin?" Thea draws mockingly, and it is the other girl's turn to snort. Thorin likes her wide smiling mouth and sarcastic sense of humour.

"He hasn't even been kissed yet. And he is the youngest, he is not to wed for another fifty years," Thorin whispers to Wren, but he is certain others can hear it too. She giggles and turns to him. Her nose is suddenly very close to his. He thinks he might not even mind the freckles.

"I will kiss you, Frerin," Thea suddenly announces. Dwalin chokes on the chicken leg he was eating, Frerin makes a happy noise, Thorin whips his head and stares at her. "If your brother kisses Wren." Thorin whips his head the other way and looks at the redhead.

"What?!" Her voice is nothing but a squeak now, and red spills on her cheeks. "Thea!"

The other girl starts roaring with laughter. Thorin understands that she knows how beautiful she is and is used to being admired. Although tall even for a daughter of Men, she is indeed very alluring from a Khuzdul point of view. She already has an opulent bosom, her eyes are large and warm, and she has very enticing hips. Thorin likes the redhead more.

He couldn't understand it through the day, but now he can clearly see he likes Wren. She is light on her feet, springly and strong, she has a firm grip, she helped him over the fence, her hair is like coppered gold, and he shortly admires her tiny ears, pink from embarrassment now.

"I agree, if Wren agrees," he says and peeks at her from the corner of his eye.

"Oh lovely, two of them will get their first kisses on the very same day," Thea claps her hands. "And since one should be careful in dealings with Dwarves, you go first." She gives Thorin a teasing smile, showing she is not serious, and he smiles back to her.

"I haven't agreed yet," Thorin hears Wren's stubborn voice. He turns to her and smiles. She is pouting, her nose twitches, and he moves closer.

"Wren, could I please kiss you? Frerin will never forgive me if I don't help him now." He keeps his voice soft. He couldn't care less about his brother, he really likes her bright red lips. Her lashes fluttered, and she looks momentarily panicked.

And then she moves to him and places her arms on his shoulders. He lunges ahead, noticing at the very last moment that she closed her eyes. Her lips are soft and sweet from the honeycake she ate before, or maybe it is just her, her taste, her tenderness, her bright hair is running through his fingers, he wanted to touch it all day. He grabs her around her middle then, pulls her closer, she gasps, her lips tremble but she does not move away. His fist curls, it is his first kiss too, he is clenching the fabric of her thin dress, her lips are moving, his are as well, it feels easy and so very sweet. She wraps her arms around his neck tighter, and her mouth slightly opens. He feels her tongue brush his bottom lip, and it feels like a flash fire pot just hit him at the back of his head. He splays his hands on her back, it is narrow and delicate, she is slender even for a girl of Men, and he feels like he is drinking the strongest of meads.

They stop because they need to breathe, and she is staring at him. Her pupils are giant, and he wants to kiss her again.

"My turn!" Frerin jumps to Thea, Thorin is worried his brother might roll off the slanted roof, and then Thea quickly leans in and pecks his lips.

"Here you go, something to remember, my little prince," her voice is impish, and Dwalin starts roaring with laughter.

"Not fair!" Frerin is yelling, Dwalin is guffawing, and Thorin has pulled Wren on his lap and is kissing her again. He is planning to lose count of which kiss it is for him by the end of this day.


	13. The Perfect Match

**A/N: I love how few of these one-shots remain actual ONE-shots :) When you ask for part two for a fic I'm starting to suspect you might actually enjoy them *disbelieving gasp* ;)**

**A/N#2: Thank you, ****Wynni****, for this one, and you are right, the question of age for these two is a common aggro, but we can always suss something out, right? ;)**

**This one the continuation of the previous one, Chapter 12.**

* * *

><p><em>That time when Thorin was starting to believe in reincarnation, while Wren found herself arguing with a stubborn cart wheel.<em>

* * *

><p>It had been three years since the Battle of the Five Armies, and a winter more severe than the lands had ever seen came. Snow was covering the Valley of Erebor, in Dale firewood and warm clothes were given out to those in need, Erebor had to fight a new avalanche every week. Snow was sneaking inside the Kingdom Under the Mountain through every crack, the cold was seeping through the walls, and even the famous forges under the Mountain seemed to fail to provide enough warmth. Envoys from Dale and Esgaroth came to Erebor asking for assistance with coal and renovations, and it was given to them.<p>

King Thorin II Oakenshield, son of Thrain, son of Thror, entered the city of Dale, wrapped in furs, accompanying a procession from the Mountain, bringing supplies. He wanted to see for himself how much the city was affected by the cold weather. Negotiations with King Bard were to be held regarding sharing the provisions as well, and King Thorin entered the house of the King of Men, shaking heaps of snow from his hood. The blizzard was raging outside, and he stomped his feet shaking white off his heavy boots.

He was met by screams and tumult, and he sighed. He could already guess that some new grief had befallen Dale. King Bard rushed to him and gave his a hasty bow.

"Forgive me, honourable King Under the Mountain, snow has broken the roof on the city infirmary, it collapsed... They say there are many wounded and killed..." Thorin pulled his fur mitts back.

"Let us go, the provisions can be unloaded without us. I have twenty capable men with me, I am certain you could use our help." His tone was gruff, but truth to be told the relationships between two men were almost amicable. They both understood the importance of sustaining peaceful and adjuvant relationships between their cities. And honestly speaking, Thorin liked the Man. Once they both came to power, they seemed to have developed genuine respect towards each other.

The infirmary was a large stone building, three-storied, probably of yellow stone. It stood one wing in ruins now, and Thorin saw people frantically running around. They carried stretchers, there were portable fire pits brought to give the place some warmth, the snow was coloured red, cries and moans of pain heard everywhere.

The wing now lying under the debris of the roof was the surgery ward, many people had been brought to the infirmary with frost bites, a barge had toppled on the river three days ago, some of its crew were still being treated and operated on. Several healers were killed, and Thorin watched the Chief Healer, an old grey haired man sitting to the side on a piece of a wall. Apparently fire had started after the roof collapsed, there were stoves and fire pits inside keeping the ailing warm, it was not put out right away. The burnt wounded added to those who were maimed by the roof and the walls.

Someone came up to the Chief Healer asking for guidance, but he only shook his head. Thorin recognized the hollow look in his eyes, they were the eyes of one broken by battle. He rarely saw it in his warriors, Dwarves were too resilient, but in his travels he saw it in Men. 'Soldier's heart' they called it. Too much pain, too much death, too little to be done...

"You have to move the wounded in the other wing," a strong young voice came from behind Thorin, and he turned to see a small figure wrapped in a thin cloak that surely couldn't provide enough warmth. He saw the hem of a healer's robe peeking from underneath. "Leave Master Healer, and do as I say." The young woman had immense authoritativeness in her voice, confident and calm, and people stirred and listened. At that moment another gush of snow filled wind almost threw Thorin off his feet. The woman keeled but managed to stay upright. The hood fell off her head, and he saw fiery curls and a young angular face. Thorin could not see well, thick snowfall was blinding him, and she quickly turned away and dashed to the stretchers by the wall. Someone called Thorin's name, and he shook off sudden stupour and followed his men.

They worked all day, moving pieces of the walls, putting out fires that would start again and again, the air was dry and the infirmary had a system of pipes of hot water going underneath floors, from large cauldrons in its basement. Now the fire from the large stoves was escaping, but they could not put them out completely, the wounded needed warmth. Only a half of all healers could tend to the wounded, many died under the collapsed roof, five were wounded and unconscious, several were nowhere to be found. Very quickly Thorin realized that though few, the healers were working deftly and efficiently, and he understood that they were following the orders of the young woman he saw earlier. He overheard a conversation of two of them, they were operating right on the snow, near a large firepit. The woman's name was Wren, she was apparently the Chief Healer's apprentice, and had no real power in the infirmary, and yet all obeyed her.

* * *

><p>Thorin's boot slipped on wet boards, soot, snow and blood mixed on them. His warriors were trying to move the biggest pieces of the broken wall, their physical strength exceeding that of Men, when the floor collapsed under him, and he tumbled in some sort of a cellar. He stood up, hastily verifying that he was unscarthed, and now he was looking around trying to find a way to climb out, when he heard voices above him. He yelled to warn the people, but it was too late. A loud crushing noise came from above, and Thorin sharply turned away, shielding his head from pieces of wood raining on him. A body collapsed near him, and he heard a loud high pitched scream.<p>

The red haired healer was lying on the floor, a piece of wooden floor board sticking out of her side. Blood was gushing from another wound on her hip, and he dropped on his knees near her. Her eyes were squeezed shut, and she was taking shallow breaths with open mouth.

"Honourable healer..." He touched the side of her face, and her eyes flew open. And that was when he recognized her.

* * *

><p><em>He was thirty eight then, not a child but not yet of battle age, and he and Frerin ran away from the house of Lord Girion to wander the streets of Dale. They were grounded for two moons for their disobedience after that, but then it seemed it was worth it. They had Dwalin with them, and they spent the day with two girls of Men they met while climbing over the fence of Lord Girion's house. One of them was skinny and red-haired, and that day Thorin had his first kiss. He never saw her since then, it was just one day, and with years he of course had forgotten about it. It was one hundred sixty one years ago.<em>

* * *

><p>"Wren..." He breathed out, and she blinked, fighting daze. Her eyes were slanted and of the same very colour he remembered, that of amber or tart apple mead, and he yelled up through the gap in the floor, "Help! I need help here!"<p>

A surprisingly strong hand grasped his wrist. "Pull it out… The piece of wood… Pull it out and press your hands over it..." He met her eyes, they were burning, and he obeyed her without a moment of doubt. She screamed when the shard left her body, and he pressed his palms over the wound.

"There is another one… On your hip..." He heard men moving above them, judging by short frantic phrases exchanged by them, someone was coming down on a rope.

"It can wait..." Her voice was growing weaker, and he saw her face became wan under the dirt and blood smeared on her freckled cheeks.

"Wren! Stay with me!" He raised his voice, and her body jolted.

"Sakhkhmi astû galikh, uzbad-dashatuh," she murmured, her lips that had been red and bright in his memory growing paler. _It is good to see you again, my prince. _Thorin's heart was beating painfully in his chest. Crippling terror was crawling in his mind, she could not be the same girl, and yet she was, and he was losing her.

"Wren!.."

"Anamzu… hulwul… I remember..." _Your lips… Sweet... _Her eyes closed, and he was growling her name.

* * *

><p>Wren opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. It was dark behind the large window to her left, and she took a cautious breath in. The pain in her side came just as she expected, she remembered the piece of wood entering it. And then she remembered a pair of blue eyes in front of her, and she blinked frantically. Could it be what her Nandhril had been talking about? Surely, the circumstances could have been less dramatic, Wren thought in irritation.<p>

"Wren," a dark figure moved somewhere to her side, and she jerked. She stared into the dim shadows, and the Dwarf who was sitting on a chair near her bed leaned ahead. She saw the same blue eyes, and then a black beard and a noble profile. Nandhril was right, he was stunning.

* * *

><p><em>Wren was seven, and she was sitting in the yard of her grandmother's house under a lilac bush. It was a hot Summer day, and her Nandhril, "maternal grandmother" in Sindarin, was brushing Wren's curls. It had been three years since Wren's mother had fallen ill and they buried her under a large oaken tree on the edge of the village. Since then Wren lived with her grandmother in a small house, full of drying herbs and jars of balms and oils.<em>

_"When I was your age, child, my mother told me what I will tell you. One day a man will come for you. He will be noble, and strong, and brave. You have to be ready, child, you have to learn his language, I will teach you, and you have to look after your hair. Do not cut it, he will recognize it, the curls have to shine, and it will have to be long for when he braids it on your wedding day. If time goes by and he still is not here, find a man who will not stay with you, bear his child but do not carry him in your heart. You will bear a daughter, her eyes of the same colour as yours, and her curls of the same fire, and you will pass your name to her, and when she is seven, tell her what I am telling you."_

_Wren sat and listened, and Nandhril started her language teaching, and Wren repeated the foreign throaty words, and that was the day when for the first time she heard the story that afterwards was repeated to her again and again, of a beautiful young prince with lips sweet as honey, and hands warm and tender, and a heart noble and strong. Wren listened, and learnt, and never forgot._

* * *

><p>"Where am I?" Her voice was scratchy, and he moved closer and gently pressed a cup to her lips. She took a sip, watching him discreetly. She had to concede, she had always thought his merits had been vastly exaggerated through the endless repetition of the story, but he was indeed enthralling.<p>

Unlike her mother, mild and pure, and her grandmother, stern and determined, Wren had a stubborn and defiant temper, and was well aware of it, and she held a certain amount of scepticism towards the customs of her family. Given, she had never even considered interrupting the line of red haired daughters, and she still remembered the lessons of what she now knew was Khuzdul, the language of severe Dwarves of Erebor. Unlike other women in her family, she had had lovers, and sometimes she would think she almost hoped he would not come, and she would choose some simple, agreeable man, bear her daughter and live in peace. Wren had to admit she was changing her mind now.

"It is the house of King Bard." Wren's grandmother had never mentioned the voice. Perhaps she was unaware, the story was old, and if indeed it was the same man all the women in her family were waiting for and saw in their dreams, on that one day in the city of Dale he was around fourteen in the years of Men. The voice probably had broken since then, and turned into the enticing velvet and rumble she was listening to now.

Wren licked her lips and lay back down on the pillows. She smirked thinking of how her grandmother always made sure Wren's hair was brushed and scattered on her shoulders to show it in the best of light. It was tangled and dirty now, and Wren venomously wondered if he could even see what colour it was. She felt she was almost arguing with the old woman in her head, asking how exactly Wren were to entice the man in front of her if she was pale, in pain and probably smelt. She listened to her body and assumed she had probably run a fever for a few days, there had been severe blood loss, she felt weak and annoyed. If all those women before her wanted her to succeed, if indeed it was she who were to fulfill that purpose, surely the circumstances could have been at least more favourable.

"You have an interesting expression, Wren," she was not certain but she thought she heard a smile in his voice. She looked at him, but could not see well in the dimness of the room.

"I have several additional orifices in my body, forgive me if I am rather vexed," she bit back, in the habit developed over the years of serving with men and constant efforts to stand her right to be perceived as equal to them. She scolded herself, she was failing her heritage, but then she heard a soft chuckle.

"How are you feeling now, honourable healer?"

"I'll live," she mumbled and sighed. Surely, it should have been another Wren to meet him, she lacked patience and charm to be the one.

"I am glad," a seemingly courteous answer followed, and she pressed her lips.

"Are you mocking me, my lord?" That gained her another low chuckle.

"Nê ithi zai uslukh kêl," he muttered quietly. _Never laugh at a live dragon. _That was the time when perhaps she should have wisened up and kept her mouth shut, but again, Wren was just not that sort of a girl.

"Tatahi zai targ mamahrul." _Do laugh at a burnt beard, _she sneered back the expression her grandmother was very fond of, meaning "do add insult to the injury." Wren was surprised how easily the words she had not spoken for years slipped off her lips. He was watching her, she could feel his eyes on her cheek, she kept her face lowered, fidgeting with a corner of a cover.

"Your Khuzdul is very good, where did you learn it?" The question was quiet, and her heart fluttered from strange tension in it.

"My grandmother taught me." There was a pause, and with the next question he seemingly put everything in its place.

"Was she the one in Dale?" He knew then, she thought, and was certain she knew as well.

"No..." Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat, "It was a Wren before her."

She peeked from the corner of her eye and watched him slowly get up and sit on the edge of her bed. She lifted her eyes and looked at him defiantly. She lied to herself that nothing was set in stone. She was her own woman, she told herself, she could make her choices. And then she reminded herself of what neither of the red haired women before her even seemed to think about. What if he did not want her? She knew Khazad well enough by then, that would be unheard of. And she was so appallingly unattractive... And he had that one day... And she was not that girl...

Their eyes met, and then he softly smiled to her. She felt her lips tremble. She suddenly wanted it to be true. The desire and longing pierced her heart, and made her shudder. She saw in him the heart, and the will, and the temper, and the passion, and all of what her grandmother spoke, and all she had ever dreamt about.

His scorching palm she had daydreamed about for years cupped her face, and he leaned in and softly kissed her lips. It was a tender and chaste caress, and she gasped in his mouth. Her hands were trembling, and she pressed a palm over his strong beating heart under the velvet doublet. He moved away, and she marveled at the bright blue of his eyes.

"You are nothing like her," he whispered and smiled to her. The sarcastic 'sorry to disappoint you' stuck in her throat. She wanted to be the one. "I have been waiting for you for so long..." Her eyes flew up from his collar she was stubbornly studying, and she looked at him not daring to believe.

"Abâd." _Here I am. _Her usual lippy answer sounded rather unimpressive since her voice was trembling, tears pooled in her eyes, and she smiled to him shyly.

"Shamukh, idmi." _Greetings and welcome. _He whispered in her lips, they both laughed quietly, and then there was silence. Lips caressed lips, he was mindful of the injuries, she was silently thanking the women before her.

* * *

><p>"Takhlibi mi razûkh lulkh," <em>Clumsy idiot, <em>Wren snarled, when the wheel of the cart she sat in once again caught on a lump of ice on the road. Thorin looked at her, she was bundled in opulent furs, only her nose, pink from the frost, peeking from the white sable collar. She looked peeved and gave the driver's back a glare. Thorin approached the cart on his pony and bent down. He received a side glance from the amber coloured eyes, and he pulled off his mitt and pushed his hand in her hood, with pleasure feeling the silk of her fiery curls. She lifted her face slightly for his convenience, and he smirked when pressing his lips to hers.

"How are your injuries, yasathuh?" He asked softly. Her cheeks were rosy, perhaps from the cold wind, but most likely from the hardly chaste kiss they had just exchanged.

"Will open again if this lulkh does not start driving better," she sounded irked, but nonetheless a small hand in a fluffy mitt snaked from under the covers, and she pulled him back to her lips.

As Thorin knew by now that was the only way to pacify her sharp tongue, and he happily proceeded to silence his future Queen.

* * *

><p><strong>AN: yasathuh = (Khuzdul) my bride**


End file.
